


The Age of Wonders: A Marvel Cinematic Universe Reboot

by witchbreed



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 14:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 71,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13148325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchbreed/pseuds/witchbreed
Summary: A(n attempt at a) reboot of the MCU, from scratch.





	1. Foreword.

 

 

** FOREWORD. **

Have you ever asked yourself "what if the Marvel Cinematic Universe

had an overarching plot and structure (and also racially and sexually diverse)?

Well, ask yourself no more! The idea behind "RE: MCU" comes from a series of graphics

I've made about two or three years ago, reorganizing the overall MCU. It is divided in 5 parts (phases),

with each chapter being roughly the equivalent of a movie. Some chapters may not differ greatly

from their original movies, but they all bring something new to the story.

 

With that in mind, enjoy!

 

 

 


	2. P01: Iron Man.

 

_phase one: some assembly required._

** IRON MAN **

 

 

 

* * * * * 

 

**MARCH 15, 1997, STARK MANOR**

“Inexcusable!” Howard said, and his voice echoed through the living room of the Stark Manner, loud as thunder, as he paced himself back and forth. “Careless! _Stupid_! What were you _thinking_?”

“We were not. We were just trying to have some fun, is all”, the young man standing in front of him argued. He had a cut on his lower lip and a blackening eye, but what was most bruised was his ego. His father shouting for the last twenty or so minutes surely had not helped.

“Fun? Fun! Is that what fun is? Getting my car without my permission! Crashing it! Getting into bar fights – for the third time this week! Is this what your life is, now?” he asked, exasperated. “Do you know how many strings I had to pull to make sure you’re not in trouble? If S.H.I.E.L.D. had not gotten there first –”

At the mention of his father’s ‘secret agency’, Tony scoffed. At his right, the equally soaked – both in sweat and from the rain – Jim Rhodes elbowed him in the ribs. It was a little too late for that; Howard turned to him, his jaw clenched so tightly it was minutes away from prettifying.

“What was that? Do you have anything to say for yourself? What, would you’ve preferred I let you get arrested? Is that the image you want to sell for the whole world? Is that what you want to be associated with? And you – James”, he turned to Rhodes, whose 5’11ness seemed to have shrunk at least an inch or two under the shadow of his father’s boss. “I expected more from you.”

“Rhodey didn’t have anything to do with it”, Tony countered, almost by reflex.

“I figured as much. But I thought I could count on him to at least serve as your voice of reason – I see now that was idiotic of me.”

“They are children, Howard. It was a mistake”, Maria intervened.  She had busied herself with putting on her earrings in the corner while Howard delivered the scolding, as she often prone to do, but even she could only stay a bystander for too long.

“They are _seventeen years old_. They need to take responsibility”, Howard corrected. He turned to his son, a mix of disappointment and hurt on his gaze. “Every day, I expect you to do better, Anthony – and you continue to let me down.”

“Sorry I’m such a disappointment,” Tony swallowed dry. “That I’m never gonna be your new Captain America.”

Howard stiffened at the mention of the name. “We’ll talk about it later, when we come back from the gala”, he said, adjusting his cuffs. “‘til then, you’re grounded.”

Tony rolled eyes. “What else is new?”

Rhodey elbowed him in the ribs again.

Howard did not answer, mostly because he didn’t want to extend the fight – the two of them were already late enough as it was, and he was sure somebody would leak to the press how ‘rowdy’ Tony had been acting. Hopefully nothing that would mean he making ‘generous donations’ or getting library hallways named after him, but he would bring his checkbook along just to be sure.

While they waited for Mr. Jarvis to bring the car around, Maria took the moment to kiss Tony’s cheek goodbye, assuring him she would ‘try to smooth things over’ on the way there, which was her code-word for ‘talking some sense into Howard’.

Tony didn’t really expect her to get anything out of him. Probably just make matters worse.

“He just wants the best for you, Master Tony”, Jarvis, their butler, tried to assure him, as they heard the car pull away, muffled by the sound of the howling winds of the storm outside.

“Yeah, right. I just wish he’d leave me alone”, he spit out, angrily, before running back to his room.

Sometimes we don’t know what we wish for.

 

* * * * *

 

**TEN YEARS LATER, STARK TOWER**

“Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark? Tony!”

“I’m up! I’m up!”

Twenty-something-year-young Tony Stark shook himself awake, almost dropping out of his chair in the process. He had been drooling over his work table for the last couple of hours now, a half-empty bottle of something hard and expensive laying close to his hand; disoriented and with a headache about the size of his bank account, he had no idea _where_ or _when_ he was – the only thing he was vaguely aware of was the stern (yet always charming) gaze of a very attractive someone lingering over him like the shadow of the reaper.

The light of the digital clock blinking in and out of focus over his table indicated it was somewhere around ten, and given the presence at his side, he would’ve guessed it was in the a.m. Oh, jeez.

Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts – his personal assistant and right-hand….woman? Man? Person? What’s the least sexist term? – was at his side. By the way she was pursing her carefully filled lips together, he was guessing he’d overslept.

Again.

“I was just taking a bit of a power-nap, that’s all”, he assured her, ruffling back his hair.

She cocked up an eyebrow. “I’ve been calling for _twenty minutes_.”

“I didn’t say it was a _short_ nap.”

Pepper took a deep breath. Sometimes it was best not to argue.

Tony put himself back together, or at least as much as one could when one struggled to stand up on one’s foot, when one’s knees had turned to jelly. He knew he had bags under his eyes, that there were stains on his shirt (some of which he did not entirely remember where came from, and others that he was carefully trying to forget), and there was still some ash on his face from the little explosion earlier that morning – but all just a price to pay for brilliancy.

‘Brilliancy’ here meaning getting black-out drunk with some underwater models, being struck by the brilliant idea of building a Life-Model Decoy of himself so he could party twice as hard, but falling asleep half-way through the blueprint.

The worst part was not realizing he had had that exact same idea three weeks later, with the exact same results.

He was a creature of habit, after all. His habits just… weren’t the good ones.

“So, what fun new things do we have on my schedule today?” he asked, a little more awake than before.

“Nothing, actually”, she said, pressing a button on her remote control. The window panels opened, shedding light into Tony’s minimalistic flat in uptown Manhattan – much to the dismay of the owner’s eyes. He hissed at the sudden clarity, like a vampire on a shitty B-movie. “Your schedule is clear for the day.”

He squinted, suspiciously. “That doesn’t seem right. No boring meetings that Obadiah wants to drag me to? Or, I don’t know, a health inspection?”

“Those are fun, but no. Well… Mr. Stane _did_ call. Several times. But I had figured, given the date –”

“What did he want?”

“Nothing. It’s about the Jericho launching. But, _again_ , given the day, I told him –”

“That’s today? Tell him I’m going.”

“But Tony –”

“I _am_ going”, he insisted, matter-of-factly. “Obadiah will be there, I’m assuming?”

“He already left.”

“And who else?”

She hesitated, and her nose crinkled. “Colonel Rhodes. He will be leaving after the ceremony.”

“What ceremony?”

“At the _cemetery_ , Mr. Stark. The one you’ve be avoiding for the last three weeks.”

“Oh, right. That one. Anyway – uh, get the plane ready. Maybe twenty, fifteen minutes”, he flared his hands around, as if brushing away the very thought. “And, while at it, get me Larry on the phone. I want the status on that Jackson Pollock he’s been bugging me about.”

“I already did. He’s got another buyer’s bid. Wants to know if you want to top it.”

“You know that’s my second favorite position”, he chuckled, heading upstairs. “JARVIS, get my suit ready.”

 _Right away sir_ , came the comforting, metallic voice of the AI. Pepper flinched; it had been years since she first heard J.A.R.V.I.S. – Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, Tony’s housekeeper-slash-AI – but it was still unnerving; like an unseen eye hovering over her left shoulder. Sure, it was a pioneer in the smart-house game, but it was still creepy.

Although, if we’re being fair, that was one of the least weird things Tony had invented the last couple of years.

Every once in a while she wondered to herself whether or not she made the right choice, letting herself be wooed away from a high-paying job as Mr. Tarleton’s assistant at Advanced Idea Mechanics, to end up working at what was very essentially a babysitting job, with a boss that was very…

Her tongue clicked on the roof of her mouth. She didn’t even want to think about the word ‘immature’, lest Tony had somehow invented a mind-reading machine she didn’t know about (it seemed like the kind of thing he would invest his resources on).

All things considered, at least Stark Industries had dental.

“Is that a yes or a no?” she asked, loud enough for him to hear.

“I don’t know. Is it a good investment? Is it a good representation of his spring period?”

“No. The Springs was actually the neighborhood in East Hampton where he lived and worked, not ‘spring’ as in the season.”

“Doesn’t answer my first question.”

“I think it’s…very overpriced.”

“Price’s not the issue. Not we if close this deal today.”

He popped back up at the top of the stairs, adjusting the collar of his shirt. No tie – as usual – and the first button opened. A very Stark Look, trademark pending. Always hard to tell if he was trying to close a deal or sleep his way through a battalion. Or both.

There were a lot of rumors.

 _Lots_ of rumors.

“What about – what about that MIT thing? What is it called again?”

“The commencement?”

“Yes, yes, that!”

“It’s in _August._ Are you really going to avoid talking about it all day long?”

“I don’t know. Will that work out?”

“No”, she said, in a stern tone. “It’s your parents’ anniversary. People expect you to be there, even if you don’t want to give a eulogy.”

“Well, you know how I’m all about subverting people’s expectations –”

“That’s not always a good thing.”

“Okay, I’ll cut you a deal – when I come back, I’ll go to the cemetery. For you. And you can give some bullshit excuse to the press that I wanted privacy and whatnot.”

She gritted her teeth. Deep down, she knew it was the best deal she could spin out of him. Sometimes, dealing with Mr. Stark was much like herding cats; except the cats had a drinking problem, and they would never admit it, because they also had an ego.

This is a very complicated metaphor.

“Alright then, Mr. Stark. Seems we have a deal.”

 

* * * * * 

 

**BAGRAM AIRBASE, AFGHANISTAN**

The Stark Industries jet landed a little over fifteen hours later in the Bagram airbase, in Afghanistan, where a committee already waited for him. Much to his surprise, he recognized straight away one of the faces in the crowd – and it was hard to decide whether or not he was thrilled to see it staring back at him.

“How did he get in here before I did?” he asked Pepper.

“He works for the military”, Pepper said, nonchalantly.

“So? That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Maybe he didn’t decide to make a stopover at London so he could have brunch with Alexander McQueen! I don’t know. Ask him”, she nudged him forward, forcing him to step out of the plane.

He stumbled down and landed, not so gracefully, in front of the men waiting for him down there. While he did not recognize the Afghani representative straight away, there was very little doubt on who the other three were: General Thaddeus Ross, the president’s personal lap dog; Obadiah Stane, his associate; and Colonel Rhodes, his…

Well, that was a bit harder to contextualize.

 “General, gentlemen”, he said, standing up straight.

“Mr. Stark. How lovely of you to grace us with your presence”, General Ross said, looking down on him.

“Thank you! You see, I’m a very busy person, so…”

“So are we,” the Afghani representative chimed, visibly annoyed. Or maybe his eyebrows were just stuck like that naturally; hard for Tony to say. “And yet –”

“Yet you could wait around for me. So you see how things always work out in the end, right?” he winked. Obadiah looked like he was about to have a stroke, but given that was what Obadiah usually looked like when Tony was involved in anything, he was not too worried. “Should we get this party started?”

Stane and Ross took an – almost choreographed – deep breath. Rhodey looked down, and the almost tentative twist in the corner of his lips told him maybe they were in the right track on this trip, after all.

They headed to the compound, where a small sea of soldiers waited for them. Fresh faces; young and eager, some of which that couldn’t even grow a proper beard just yet. That threw him out of a loop; more often than not, he was used to deal with the suits, the guys that sat in their ivory tower giving orders and pulling the strings behind the scenes – the ones that groaned the moment they saw him step into the room, but that nonetheless made space for him, because they knew he was the best in the business to provide them with the weaponry they needed. They had to swallow him – sometimes literally – if it meant having the Stark brand in their possession.

But those were not the kind of folks waiting ahead. Those were…fuck.

Those were kids.

“Are you…sober for this, Tony?” Rhodes asked in a worried, hushed tone, as he leaned over closer to him, perhaps misunderstanding the sudden constipated expression on his face as something else.

“Surprising, I know”, he said, shaking the feeling off as pre-presentation jitters. Just like in school, but with perhaps not as much pressure. “How have you been, by the way?”

“Good. Doing well. You?”

“You know me. I’m always the best.”

“Sure. We missed you at the ceremony yesterday.”

“Personally, I can’t say the feeling is mutual.”

“And I can’t say that I’m surprised”, Rhodes scoffed, pulling away from him.

Obadiah and General Ross had gone ahead, already waiting for them at the stage. To say they looked displeased was an understatement: Ross, because he was not Tony’s biggest fan overall. Stane… well.

He had probably grown used to handling things on his own, seeing as he’d done so for the better part of the last decade. Owner of one of the many companies that had gone out of business as Stark Industries grew in power, Obadiah had sold his company to Tony’s father forty or so years ago, but in the process had quickly risen to be Harold’s second-hand man. When the Starks passed away in that _tragic_ car accident and Tony locked himself away from the world to wallow in his self-pity – not his proudest moment, he could admit, in retrospect – it was Obadiah who made sure the company wouldn’t go the same way that so many others had.

The real MVP, as the kids nowadays would say.

But since Tony decided to step back into a more proactive role, Obadiah had found his voice being…not as loudly heard as it used to be. Now he had found himself having to share the spotlight, quite literally.

“It’s a big moment for us”, he said, as Tony approached, barely audible amidst the crowd going wild. Tony had been winking and waving at them, which didn’t make it much better. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take the reins?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it”, he assured, trying really hard not to laugh. Under the bright sun, Obadiah’s bald head was shinier than ever. He looked like one of those ugly supervillains – Eggman or whoever the fuck else it was – from the ridiculous comic books his father used to collect. “I got everything under control.”

Obadiah sighed. Tony had told him a lot of lies over the years, but this was surely the most bold-faced one yet.

Tony stood at the center of the stage; behind him, the mountains as a backdrop. Ahead, what was surely the future of warfare. Hopefully not the end of it, though; otherwise he’d go out of business.

Pepper had a speech ready for him – Pepper always had a speech ready for him – but he decided to ditch it. Long words about things he neither understood or cared about. Things about hope and freedom and all this other bullshit the military had used to induce these toddlers into joining a war that was not theirs, for a chance of a future most wouldn’t see come true.

He preferred to follow his father’s approach when speaking to the public. Make it fun, make it quick, appeal to one’s sense of manhood, and their inherent fear of invisible threats and outsiders. Worked every time.

“Is it better to be feared, or to be respect?” Tony asked, once the crowd settled down. “I wonder – is it too much to ask for both?” he chuckled. “With our new missile system, the very first on our new Freedom Force line, with our exclusive new proprietary repulsor technology, we can have _both_. They say the best weapon is the one you never have to fire, but we all know that’s not how it works – the best one is the one we only need to fire once. The one that, when the guy goes down, we make sure it’s because he won’t get to stand up again. It’s how you do it, it’s how my father did it, and it’s how America does it; and now, we can make sure they won’t even go down at all, because we those pretty puppies at our side, they won’t even crawl out of their hiding holes to threaten us.”

He gestured towards the other end of the base. On their cue, the soldiers fired the missiles, launching three or four of the prototypes at the hills behind him. The missiles splintered themselves into a dozen more, showering over the hills below.

“Let me introduce you”, he said, as a wave of smoke and ash blew past them. “To the Jericho.”

 

* * * * *

 

“Your boy really knows how to sell a product”, General Ross said, minutes later. He and Obadiah stood aside, likeminded souls, watching as Tony rejoiced in the attention of the military personnel.

“He gets that from his father. Both had a…strong flair. And a way to get what they want.”

“So I’ve heard. I am just hoping our _investment_ here proves more useful than our…last ones.” Ross’ jaw tightened.

Stane’s smile widened. “Ah, yes. What is it they called it? _The New Mexico Incident_?”

“That’s classified.”

“It always is” he scoffed, rolling eyes. “We should head out. We still have to reach the Kunar base before nightfall.”

“Do we _have_ to go?” Tony groaned, peeping the ending of the conversation from afar. “I mean, why can’t they come here? It’s the same distance.”

“Because _we_ are the ones trying to sell to _them_ , not the other way around.”

“All I hear are excuses”, he shrugged.

“Come on, Tony, it’s not that far away”, Rhodey chipped in.

“You seem interested in going. Don’t tell me that Captain I’ve heard you’ve been eyeing will there. What’s her name again? Cassie? Carly?”

“It’s None-of-Your-Business, actually. Now come on, we got a lot of things to talk about.”

“Do we, though?” Tony asked, hopping on the nearest Humvee.

“Yes, we do. Scoot over.”

“Nope.” He pulled the door closed, before James could get in. “ _This_ is Partytown. You guys don’t belong in Partytown. You belong in Sourville. So…” he shrugged.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

Rhodes looked over from him to Obadiah, who could only give him a resigned look. Sometimes it was just…not worth the argument. Maybe the years apart had made Rhodey forget that little detail.

But, as Tony would soon find out, his plans for a quick scape were not as well-thought out as he had first envisioned – because, as it turned out, the ‘party’ in ‘Partytown’ was…missing, for the most part.

The car drove through the vast desert, and the engine was the only thing that could be hear – except maybe for maybe the rapid breathing of the soldiers around him, who, when not sharing strange looks, were staring at him as though he was about to pop out a second head.

“This is crazy, I feel like you’re driving me to court martial. What – what did I do?” he asked, at last. “I feel like you're gonna pull over and snuff me out. What? Are you not allowed to talk?”

“We can talk, sir”, said the guard sitting at his left, the youngest one in the squad, though he may as well have choked on his tongue to do so.

“Oh, good! That’s a start.”

“Nothing personal, sir”, said the driver, catching his eyes through the rear mirror. It was a lady, he noticed, though it would've been hard to spot otherwise with all the apparel. “You intimidate them.”

“And why is that? Is it because I’m extremely handsome? Extremely rich? Extremely well-endowed?” he grinned. “You can just pick one.”

The rest of the squad laughed. That seemed enough to easy out the mood; the lad at his side seemed to relax his shoulders, at least.

“Sir, may I ask you a question?” asked the soldier riding shotgun, turning to face him.

“Is it about the well-endowed part? ‘Cause if so, the answer is yes”, Tony said, with a wink and a finger-gun.

“Well – kind of. Is it true you went 12-12 for the Maxim cover models last year?”

“Good question, young Padawan. Yes – and no. Sadly, June and I had a scheduling conflict, but lucky enough the Christmas edition were twins. Anything else?”

The young man at his side raised his hand bashfully. Tony almost snorted.

“ _Seriously_? Go on.”

“Is it cool if I take a picture with you?”

“It’s extremely. Wait, I feel like I’ve said extremely a lot. Have I said extremely a lot? Anyway, bring it in!”

The guy unstrapped himself from his seatbelt at the speed of light. He leaned over at Tony’s side, handing out his camera to the other guy.

“I don’t wanna see this in your MySpace page and – please, no gang signs”, he joked, when the guy lifted two fingers up. “I’m just kidding. Yeah, peace! I love peace. I’d be out of a job with peace.”

As though to prove him right, an intervention – divine or otherwise – forced the car to stop abruptly, as bomb went off just ahead of their convoy, sending the car ahead of them flying to pieces everywhere; the flames consumed the vehicle as it rolled to the side of the road, clouding the way in black smoke and screams, both inside and outside.

“What the – what happened? What do we got?” Tony shouted, through the madness.

The driver rolled out of the car, gun in hand, but she did not have the time to pull the trigger; Tony heard the familiar zing of bullets flying, even before he saw her body fall flaccidly next to one of the tires.

“Eugene, stay with Mr. Stark!” the other soldier shouted, as he rolled out of the vehicle.

The screams of ‘get down, get down’ and the dozen curse words young Corporal Thompson was screaming to him got lost in the raid of bullets coming from outside – until they weren’t, anymore.

“Gimme – gimme a gun!” Stark demanded, his hands shaking.

“No! Stay here!” Eugene shouted, before he kicked the door open.

He should have listened. He should.

But he didn’t.

Tony could hear screams, explosions, and a wall of fire that shook the convoy, almost turning it over his head. He crawled out of it, dodging an explosion nearby that almost blew his left eardrum; in the smoke, he could not see where Corporal Thompson or the others were, or what was made of them. He couldn’t even see who was shooting at him, but it felt like they were coming from everywhere.

Dodging another explosion sent him flying off his feet. He rolled behind a rock, desperately reaching for his cell phone – was Rhodes still nearby? Did he even still have the same number? – when another missile came landing on his feet. One, this time, he recognized.

It had his name on it, after all.

He tried to get away, run for his life (this time, quite literally), but it was too close too soon. Tony was knocked back, falling flat on his back. As consciousness began to fade, he had only the vague awareness that something was bleeding.

He. He was bleeding. Blood was pouring out of his chest. Leaking through his bulletproof vest – what good did that do now? – from where a shrapnel of bomb had lodged itself.

Oh…fuck. 

 

* * * * *

 

As he opened his eyes again, Tony was met with the same familiar yet strange dizziness that had plagued him not just a couple of hours earlier – though that certainly felt like a lifetime ago. He did not open his eyes to light, however, as all he saw was a blinking red dot not further away from his face, and nothing but darkness around him.

There were people, a dozen of them at least, standing at his side. Through the humming sound in his ears, he could hear them speaking words he only vaguely understood – though their meaning mattered very little, as the guns they carried around their necks and in their arms were the true language of communication.

And, given where they were being pointed, he had the distinct feeling he was the focus of the conversation.

Between the bomb going off and now, he remembered very little; flashes here and there, scenes put together in a barely comprehensible form. Dragged around, strapped to a bed, screams, water splashed on his face, the vague smell of chloroform…the aching in his chest told him they had either put something in or pulled something out of him.

Fuck. Were they making him a walking time-bomb?

The men around him continued to talk, waving their riffles around his face as though they were trying to overcompensate for something. In the reflection of the camera in front of him he could see a flag behind them, but he didn’t recognize its owner. Certainly not someone he’d done deals with – so where did those bombs come from?

Good question, but certainly not one he would get an answer to any time soon, as he was shut down whenever he so much as tried to open his mouth. His hands were tied, literally and metaphorically. In retrospect, taking all those self-defense classes was pretty fucking useless.

Sadly, it didn’t seem like he would have the opportunity to gloat to Pepper about being right this one time.

When the recording was over, Tony was dragged back through more long and dark tunnels, suffocating on the bag over his head. There was a part of him that was still hoping this was some sort of elaborate prank by Obadiah or Rhodey, but at every passing minute that option became more and more distant; ‘til it died out, around the same time he was thrown into another cave – to, he assumed, rot for however many days he still had left.

As fate would have it, though, he wasn’t the only one in the cave.

“Took you long enough”, said the man standing at the far end of the room. In his dizziness, Tony could barely discern what he was doing, but judging by the intoxicating smell in the air, he’d guess he was cooking.

“Who the hell are you?” Tony asked, stumbling forward through the dark. The pain in his chest had intensified at every step; felt like something was trying to puncture his heart.

“I was the guy who saved your life”, the guy said, stirring whatever it was in his frying pan. In the dying light of the fire, Tony could almost tell the man’s traits: a wrinkled, old Chinese man with round glasses too small for his own face that looked strangely familiar.

He, much to Tony’s dismay, did not seem too phased by the situation they were in.

“What are you –”

A strangled noise interrupted his line of thought as he collapsed over a makeshift bed, clutching at his heart. Something was – something was not quite right. As he tore apart the bandages covering his chest, the reason became apparent.

“What the FUCK is this? What the hell did you do to me?”

“It’s a pacemaker. Of sorts. It’s what keeping your heart beating. And what I did –” he branded the wooden spoon towards Stark’s face. “Was save your life. You’re welcome. Now lie down, you need rest.”

Tony resented his tone, but given the world had begun blinking in and out of focus before his eyes, he chose to comply. Rhodes would’ve been so proud.

“I’ve removed all the shrapnel I could, but there was still a lot left. Nasty little pieces, those bombs of yours”, he continued, circling around the bed. Tony heard the tinkering of machinery, but his eyelids were too heavy to see. “But nothing I haven’t had to deal with before. Some of it was headed to your atrial septum; a week or two and you’d have been dead.”

“That sounds comforting.”

“It shouldn’t be. The pacemaker will act as an electromagnet, keeping the shrapnel from reaching your heart – but it needs to be recharged. And it’s not gonna be a pleasant experience.”

Tony could see the figure of the man leaning over him, attaching wires into his chest from what looked like a used-up car battery. Just then, he realized where he knew that face from; but just then, a surge went through his body, and the lights were out.

 

* * * * *

 

“You’re Yinsen. Ho Yinsen. The scientist”, he said, when life returned to his body.

“That’s what they called me, alright”, Yinsen said. He was sitting at the other side, against a wall, wiping his hands on a dirty piece of cloth. “And you are Anthony Stark. We have met before. A technical conference, in Bern.”

“I would remember.”

“Drunk as you were?” he scoffed. “I doubt it. I’m still surprised you managed to give such an eloquent lecture on integrated circui –”

“People thought you were dead”, Stark cut off, sharply. He sat up, unplugging the wires from his chest. “There was – the papers – magazines, I don’t know –”

“I guess it’s been a while I’ve been here”, Yinsen said, looking around. The fire had died out, and around them there was only the darkness, save from the blinking red light of what Tony could only assume was a security camera. “I don’t even remember the last time I’ve seen the sun.”

“Where is – _where_ is here?”

“You will find out. Soon enough.”

As if on cue, the doors of the room were opened again. This time, three men stepped in; a fat, bald man and several skinny ones, several of them carrying heavy weaponry. Tony recognized those guns – those were _his_. How the hell did they get their hands on it?

The bald man came forward, his arms open wide, speaking yet again in tongues he did not understand. Yinsen seemed to do so, as he jumped back on his feet, raising his hands in surrender.

“What? What is he saying?” Tony asked, when Yinsen nudged him into doing the same.

“Welcome Tony Stark”, Yinsen repeated. “The most famous mass-murderer in the history of America. He’s honored.”

“Feeling’s not mutual”, Tony spit out, through gritted teeth.

The man ignored him, shoving a piece of paper on Yinsen’s hands. “He says – he says he wants you to build the missile. The Jericho. The one you were presenting”, Yinsen continued, showing him the picture the man had handed him.

 _That was from the launching_ , Tony realized. Fuck. How long had he been there?

“I refuse”, he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Yinsen’s eyes bulged out. “What?”

“I refuse”, he repeated, more defiantly. “I refuse.”

That was the wrong answer.

He had never been waterboarded before – it had never so much as crossed his mind before. He had been into some extreme things, sure; he could even be talked into some watersports by the right person, but having one’s head repeatedly shoved inside a barrel of water, suffocating as the water filled his lungs, the makeshift pacemaker in his chest leaving out sparks as rushes of adrenalin spiked through his body…that was definitely not how he had envisioned that trip to go.

 _Jericho! Jericho!_ He heard them screaming, hands tugging and pulling at him, shoving him around like a ragdoll. He screamed, too, but his voice was drowned out, as they sure wanted to do to him, before he was finally dragged away like a caveman’s prey after a conquest.

Maybe that would be it. Maybe that would be how he would die. Executed in some cave like a rat, where his body would never be found. Would they shoot him? Chop him off? Behead him? Scavenge him for body parts? He didn’t know the procedure, but it sure wouldn’t be pleasant.

Much to his surprise, however, he was not thrown in a lion den. Rather, the armed men led him…to the end of the cave, where the sun – fresh, warm, welcoming – engulfed him as though it was the first time he had experienced it in decades.

Might as well have been.

He and his captors stood in an entrance at the side of a mountain. Down below, what looked like a gigantic meteor crater – thousands of years old, if not more. It had mostly been filled with a marketplace, tiny stands selling from fruits to weaponry (much of which carrying the Stark brand on them). It was not the only thing taking space in the landscape, however, as the colossal ruins of what looked like a flying saucer cast its shadow onto the valley not much further from where they were.

Standing there, it felt like Tony had just been sucked into an alternative reality; but he was quickly brought back to his own current torment, when one of the armed men shoving him forward, demanding him to move.

Yinsen and his captor were already at the marketplace. Despite being at the same height, the professor looked sheepish in comparison.

He considered asking them what that place was, but given he had gotten exactly 0 answers since arriving there, it felt like a useless effort.

“Wong-Chu says…Wong-Chu says you have everything you need here. To build the Jericho”, Yinsen said, as Stark approached. The warlord continued shouting in his language. “He demands – he demands you make a list of materials. He wants you to start working immediately. When you’re done, he’ll set you free.”

Wong-Chu stretched his hand forward. Tony shook it, with his best fake smile. “No, he won’t.”

Yinsen nodded. “No, he won’t.”

Tony looked around, allowing the feeling of hopelessness settle in. All around him, as far as the eye could reach, there were armed men, guns on the trigger, ready to shoot at the smallest sign of rebellion. The people wandering around the market kept their heads bowed low, and their lights sealed tightly. Some of them lacked limbs, or had their burned out and scarred, much like many of the soldiers shoving them around. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no way to escape. No way to be rescued, either. Were the others – Rhodes, Obadiah, Pepper – even looking for him? They wouldn’t find him there, even if they were. Whatever god these people prayed to, he had long since forgotten them in that hellhole.

And then, even if anyone did find him, what hope was there? They’d shoot him in the head at the first chance – and if they didn’t, the shrapnel would do the trick. That car battery wouldn’t hold on forever. He’d be dead in a week or less.

The great Tony Stark. What an ironic way to meet his demise.

But the trick was…well, he wasn’t quite dead just yet, was he?

 

* * * * *

 

“We need lights up here. Lots of lights. If this is meant to be my working station, it needs to be well-lit”, he said, to the men marching into the cave. They brought along boxes of machinery; bombs and tanks of gas and all the equipment he had listed – and then some. “I’ll need welding gear. Acetylene, propane; I don’t care, just get it to me. We’ll need a soldering station as well; helmets, goggles, gloves. Smelting cups. Precision tools. And – hey, careful with that!”

He moved around the room, carrying his battery with him, as they set up his stage. Part of him hated to admit it, but he’d never felt more on his element: hands-on, tearing through blueprints, dissembling and reassembling, cables and wires and sparks flying everywhere. Yinsen was at his side, passing back and forth his commands to Wang-Chu’s men – though even he seemed to struggle with communication with the horde of faceless henchmen coming and going.

“How many languages do you speak?” he asked, as they removed the core of one of the bombs.

“Many”, Yinsen said. “But not nearly enough for these people. They speak Arabic, Urdu, Dari, Pashto, Mongolian, Farsi, Russian – and those are just the ones I could pick up.”

“And who are ‘these people’, exactly?”

“Your loyal customers. Who did you think was buying your product?” Yinsen chuckled. Tony felt a nod grow in his throat; if he wasn’t so focused on his own survival at that moment, he’d have taken a second to ponder over the road that had led him to where he was now. “They called themselves ‘The Ten Rings’. Typical run of the mill terrorist organization.”

“I wouldn’t say that. What’s that thing outside? A spaceship?”

He scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Must be a monument of sorts.”

 _Strange place to erect a monument_ , Stark thought, as he unscrewed the pieces of a power core. Maybe they were just really into post-modern art?

Would not be the first surprising thing in this whole (mis)adventure.

“You know, we could be more productive if I knew what exactly we’re supposed to be doing”, Yinsen said, looking over at the blinking red dot above them. “ _They_ probably would like to know, too.”

“Yeah, well, I like to keep a little mystery going. It’s good for any relationship”, he winked, ripping a metallic piece from inside one of the cores.

“What is that?”

“Palladium. 0.15 grams. We need at least 1.6. Think we can get the rest of them from these big boys?”

The answer was yes – though it took time, effort, and a set of steady hands that Yinsen was more than eager to provide. Assembling the metal, melting it down, shaping it into a perfect ring; one of the first pieces, welded together until it became smaller than the palm of his hand.

When plugged into the battery, it lit up like a Christmas tree. The lights around them flickered on and off, until half of them were drained out of power.

“That doesn’t look like a missile to me”, Yinsen said, leaning over his shoulder.

“It’s an arc reactor”, Tony explained. “A miniature one, anyway. We have a big one powering my factory at home. It should keep the shrapnel out of my heart.”

“What can you generate with this?”

“If my math is right – and it’s always is – I’d say three gigajoules per second. Enough to keep my heart going.”

“For fifty lifetimes, probably.”

“Or…something big, for fifteen minutes.”

From the corner of their eyes, they gave each other a knowing look. In the corner of the room, the blinking red dot of the security camera had gone off with the rest of the lights.

The first step was to install the arc reactor. Would not be a pleasant process, Yinsen assured him; but then again, neither was getting plugged into a car battery and turned on every couple of minutes. As long as he survived, that was what mattered.

The second part of the plan was the hard one. He had to shout – with Yinsen’s translation – some bullshit or another to Wang-Chu and his men about delicate chemicals and blowing someone’s face off (easy enough to convince, given the lack of proper gear) to keep them from waltzing into their workshop unannounced. His greed over getting his hands on the Jericho missile seemed to out-weight his rational thinking.

To Stark, that was more useful than any wrench.

He’d still hear them approaching, peeking through the window in the door to check if everything was okay, but without ever getting too close. At least gave them enough room to breathe, though Yinsen was still struggling to do so.

“You have a plan, right?” he asked. “Right? Tell me you have a plan.”

“Yes. Kind of. Maybe. We need to find a way to get out of here”, Tony said. He rolled out a piece of paper, using some charcoal to stretch his ideas into images. “Something powerful. Resistant. Fast. Destructive.”

“I’m fairly certain that is the very definition of what a missile is.”

“Sure. But you can’t hide inside of one.”

He finished the drawing. Yinsen looked over the picture, but it didn’t exactly clarify anything. “A…suit of armor?”

“A _powered_ suit of armor”, Tony correct.

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“No, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

Well…technically speaking getting waterboarded again would certainly hurt, as would be getting shot in the head, but sometimes you need to trick yourself into being optimistic, even if it doesn’t work.

While Yinsen helped develop the proper schematics, Stark went to work. With his blowtorch at hand, he went to work, turning the scraps given to them into gold – like his father had done before him. _Creativity is the key to progress_ , Howard had said, about a million times before.

Looking back, he wished he’d listened to him more.

They worked in a hurry, trying to keep away from the eyes of Wang-Chu and his men, lest they made their cameras start working again. Through the process, Yinsen had the constant look of ‘are you sure this is going to work?’, but he never questioned his methods. As the project strung along, his confidence on the success of it seemed to grow. Color had even begun to return to his face.

Either that or he was enjoying the boost on food ratio coming his way. Tony himself was not one to eat much – he also found that his brain worked much better if he wasn’t drunk all the time.

Maybe he should try that at home some time.

Yinsen left out a soft whistle when he voiced it out loud. “Home”, he said, wistful. “It’s been a while.”

“You have someone waiting for you?” Tony asked. “Family?”

“Yes. My daughter lives in the States with her mother, and my son, who lived with me in Timbetpal. What about you, Mr. Stark? Anybody waiting back at your ivory tower?”

Tony bit down his lower lip. He could lie, tell him that he had someone – several someones, even – ready to throw their arms at him at Stark Tower. That he wouldn’t come home to an empty loft, greeted by a mechanical voice (granted, a high-tech mechanical voice, but one nonetheless), where the rest of the world stood still.

He thought of Rhodey in that moment, thankful that they were not in the same Humvee. Of Obadiah, his surrogate father, and the legacy they would leave behind. He thought of…

He thought of Pepper. _Should probably give her a raise_.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Yinsen continued. “How the man with everything has nothing to call his own.”

Tony didn’t answer. He had never been too fond of ironies, anyway.

 

* * * * *

 

The sound of shouting coming from out of the door shook him awake, the helmet he’d spent the night fixing slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a loud _clang!_ Yinsen, equally startled, jumped back on his feet.

The doors swung open seconds afterwards, and Wang-Chu walked in, fury in his eyes. He was shouting, pointing at the scraps on the floor; Tony didn’t understand a word he said, but he knew what he meant and what he wanted. The arc reactor may have kept him alive for the last few weeks, but his expiration date was closer and closer at each passing minute.

Wang-Chu grabbed Yinsen by the neck, lifting him over his head with an easiness that was scary. He squeezed the man’s neck so tightly Tony was afraid he’d hear the bones breaking.

“We are – we are almost done! Two days, maybe, or even less!” he shouted, stepping closer. The other men raised their weapons, but Wang-Chu gestured them to stop. He looked over at Stark, spitting out words he didn’t understand, before looking back to Yinsen. “I need – I need him. He’s a good assistant.”

“Tomorrow”, Wang-Chu corrected, in broken English. “Jericho – tomorrow.”

He dropped Yinsen down like a sack of potatoes, he and his men retreating into the darkness of the mountain. When Tony looked over, the light of the security camera had gone back on.

To them, that meant one thing. “We need to move. Now or never.”

“Is it even ready?” Yinsen asked, massaging his reddening throat.

“It has to be. What other options do we have?”

“Death, probably.”

That didn’t sound too enticing.

 

* * * * *

 

Using the camera’s blind spot, Stark and Yinsen worked overnight to put together the last pieces missing of the suit of armor, replaying in their heads the escape routes they had memorized on the few times they were allowed out into the marketplace. _41 steps straight ahead to the door, then 16 steps more, turn right, 33 steps, right again_ , they repeated, adjusting the last pieces of the equipment together.

As long as the plan worked, they would be out of there in a blink of an eye. The only problem was making sure the plan worked.

“Is the door ready?” he asked, flexing his hands. The armor answered to his commands like a second skin, humming with the sound of the energy of the arc reactor flowing through it.

“Yes. All we need is a reason for them to open it.”

“That’s easy. Roll on the floor.”

“What?”

“Come on, do it! Trust me.”

Yinsen shot him a strange look, but agreed anyway. He fell down, making sure to roll near the range of the camera.

“Help, my friend is having a – uh – a heart attack! Help!” Stark screamed, before pulling down his helmet.

Outside the cave, they heard the coming of the men through the corridor. The door was pulled open, triggering the homemade explosive tagged to the lock. The door blew wide open, as did the men along with it.

That was when all hell broke loose.

The camera went off again, and the attention of every man in the mountain was turned to them; they knew it was the moment to move.

“Come on, come on, we need to move”, Tony said. The suit was heavy – heavier than he had imagined. Even taking a step required more strength than he thought. The earth trembled under his feet at each inch crossed.

“Is everything ready? Are the repulsors charged?” Yinsen asked, getting back on his feet.

“I don’t know. You were in charge of checking.”

“What? No, I thought you’d be doing it!”

The repulsor system was the last piece they had incorporated in the suit – courtesy of the original Jericho missile idea. They had not had the opportunity to test it, but if all went well, they would blast their way out of there and use the repulsors to activate the jetpack system. The whole process would double the amount of energy consumed by the arc reactor, but it was better than nothing.

Yinsen plugged him into the small computer, inserting the codes to turn it online. They had tried to use the laptop to send messages outside, but even Stark's knowledge of technology was enough for him to break through whatever security they had in that place. They had been completely cut off from the outside world.

But not for long.

“It’s gonna take at least a minute to load”, Yinsen said, nervously.

“What? No, we don’t HAVE a minute!”

Yinsen looked around, spotting one of the machine guns the blown-up terrorists had left on the floor. He knew Tony was right. “Then we’re gonna have to make time.”

It took Tony a second to understand what he meant. By then, Yinsen had already run out of the door, snatching the gun on his way and shooting up and down anything that was on his path. His maniac screams filled the cave, as did Tony's, demanding him to stop and come back – but those fell to deaf ears.

Yinsen ran, scarring off the men coming his way, but he didn't get very far. They were waiting for him, guns cocked up. Just then, the download completed, drying out all the lights in the cave to charge the repulsors.

There were the echoes of shooting in the dark, and then silence.

Tony waited, holding his breathe. Part of him knew Yinsen was not coming back - the rational, realistic part – but another part was still hoping the sound of footsteps and rushed, quiet tones were his sign to go.

But he knew better. He waited, at least 'til he saw the first of the men approach.

Then he didn't have to wait anymore.

With a hard swing, he knocked the man back against the wall; in his shock, the terrorist pulled the trigger, but his bullets bounced off of the armor like they were pebbles. The others came after, shooting for all they were worth, but he marched forward, slamming his way past them.

They heard him coming, but in the dark, all they could see was the glow of the arc reactor, before they went flying to the other side of the corridor or had their skulls smashed against the hardest rock nearby.

The ones still left standing ran, cowardly, barricading themselves behind metal doors; quivering in fear, their guns held high, knowing that whatever ammunition they had in their cartridges wouldn't be enough to slow him down.

 _Bang_. _Bang_. _Bang_. Then the door, too, was out of the way.

Quick as a cockroach, they fled, some throwing themselves out of his path even if it meant rolling down the mountain. All of them...except one.

Wang-Chu stood at the end of his path. In one hand, another Stark-branded weapon; the other wrapped around the neck of a badly-wounded Yinsen. At that moment, there was no need for a translator – one step forward and he pulled the trigger.

Tony stopped. He looked over, from Wang-Chu to Yinsen. There was a look of resignation on Yinsen's face as he gave a confirming nod, blood from his wound slowly seeping onto the floor.

 _Do it, Mr. Stark_ , he could almost hear him say. Tony obliged.

His finger trembled as he pulled the trigger, but he took the shot anyway – but not directly at Wang-Chu. Instead, the projectile equipped into his suit shot past him, into the structure of the cave behind him, bringing it down on top of both him and Yinsen before he could even register what was happening.

Under the rubble, Tony could see nothing but Yinsen’s hand. Unmoving.

Knowing time was running out, Tony kept pushing through – the mountain, his sadness, his grief, his anger. He could feel the energy of the arc reactor decreasing, and there was still ways to go.

On the outside of the mountain, more men were waiting for him; shots came from left to right, above and below, until they had exhausted their bullets.

“My turn”, he said, but he had no bullets for them.

Instead, he ignited the flamethrowers – Yinsen’s pesky little project, who’d taken almost a week to insert properly without overheating the system and cooking him alive. The flames engulfed everything in their path, from stacks of hey to boxes of weaponry to tents to anyone still standing on his way. Fire rose, dark clouds of smoke soaring upwards, clogging the lungs of anyone still daring to stand around and face him.

From behind rocks, with fingers shaking as they loaded their guns, they shot at him, Stark bullets scratching against the heating metal. He fired at them, randomly, blowing up stacks of ammunition to kingdom come.

Still, there were too many – too many even for his flamethrower to reach. With the temperature inside the suit rising and the weight of him pulling him down, Tony realized it was the moment to leave before it was too late.

With one last look at the cave behind him, he activated the repulsor system, propelling himself skywards just as the fire devoured the rest of the camp, in a shower of fireworks worthy of a fourth of July parade.

As he crossed the sky, Tony looked down at the monument, practically untouched by the fire. “That’s definitely a fucking flying saucer”, before skyrocketing towards the desert.

Halfway there, however, he felt the jet boots start coughing up, as the energy from the arc reactor went down. The suit sunk down, losing altitude by the second, Tony soon found himself plunging down at increasing speed towards a sand dune.

“SHIT. SHIT-SHIT-SHIT-SHIT-SHIT-“ he screamed, half-thankful that nobody could see him falling face-first into what he was sure was the backdrop of some shitty 70s movie like Star Wars, or whatever it was called.

His comfort was quickly gone however, when it dawned on him that...well... there was nobody to hear him. For miles and miles. He had tried to search for a hint of a civilization as he passed by, but aside from rocks, there was nothing waiting for him down there.

Tearing the suit off of him, Tony crawled of the dune, gasping for air. His arm was on fire, where the suit had begun to melt against his skin. The pain was lacerating. The world danced in and out of focus before his eyes, the sun blazing ahead. What was north? South? Left? Right? He could not tell if the aching in his chest was the arc reactor about to give out or if it was just the desperation settling in.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Jim would know the answer. Pepper would probably devise a plan out of this mess. Pepper always had a plan. “Help me”, he begged, knowing that wherever they were, they would not be able to hear him.

But he would get to them.

Even if it was the last thing he did.

Stumbling on his own feet, he dragged himself forward, leaving the husk of his suit behind to be buried by the uncaring sands – afraid that, if he so much as thought about staying in one place for too long, he'd meet the same fate. Or a worse one.

Moving meant putting as much distance between himself and the Ten Rings as possible. At every five steps, Tony would look back, afraid he'd see them – whatever was left of them, anyway – marching towards him with their guns in hand. Perhaps...perhaps it was just the dehydration settling in, but sometimes it felt like they were already there, black eyes staring at him in the sand, whistling words in tongues he had studied but never quite mastered; curse him for not sticking to his Hungarian classes like his father had told him.

Would they come for him in horses? Those funny little cars that could travel on sand? Or – or would they drop out of the sky, shooting first and asking questions later?

Shit. He could almost picture the helicopters swirling above him like vultures.

Wait, no. Hold on.

Those were actual helicopters.

“Hey! Hey, over here! I’m in here!” He screamed for all his lungs were worth, jumping and waving his hands over his head. Fuck, no, wait. That was stupid. What if they WERE part of the Rings?

But the choppers looked military. Good military or bad military? Was there even really a difference?

They came down, parking a couple of meters ahead of him. Tony fell to his knees, hands in the air, ready for whatever shit that was meant to come for him.

What he didn’t expect was the soldier leading the party to drop down to his knees in front of him, throwing his arms around him like there was no tomorrow.

He’d recognize that hug anywhere.

“J-Jim? Rhodey?”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, I’m here”, he whispered, holding him tightly. “I’m here.”

Tony clung to him, digging his nails on Rhodey’s arms, desperately - desperately - trying to prove to himself he was real. He was there. He had heard him.

Rhodey pulled from him, cupping Tony's face on his hands. “Guess Partytown wasn’t that fun, right?” he asked, pressing their foreheads together.

Now _that_ was an understatement.

 

* * * * *

 

“Are you sure you don't want anything, Mr. Stark?” the flight attendant asked, for what felt like the twentieth time since the plane had taken off. Tony sunk a little deeper in his chair.

“He’s fine. We’re fine, thank you”, Rhodey said, dismissing her with a gesture. Jim had stayed by his side through the entire trip; from the moment the helicopter picked them up to his rounds at the hospital in Switzerland to extract the shrapnel from his chest to finally returning home.

So far, he had not asked what happened during his captivity – three long months they had searched for him, Tony found out; it was hard to believe time had flown so quickly – nor how he had managed to get out. It was clear on his face that he was dying to know what had happened, but respecting Tony’s trauma was more important than his own curiosity.

Not that Tony would personally admit he _was_ traumatized, obviously. For him, trauma is just a thing people who can't do retail therapy have to suffer through; that wasn't the kind of thing for him.

He had better things to occupy his mind with.

“You ready for this?” Rhodey asked, as the jet descended into the airport.

“Do I have any other option?”

“With your money? You could...I don't know, buy an island, or seven, leave civilization behind and spend the rest of your days drinking coconut water and sunbathing.”

“Right. I’m sure Monster Isle is a nice tourist spot at this time of the year.”

Rhodey chuckled, rolling eyes. At least he was getting his sense of humor back...sort of.

He helped Tony back on his feet, leading him out of the plane as soon as it finally landed. Waiting for them outside, Stark was surprised to find that there were no journalists or military officials rounding him up with questions, as it had been at the hospital; he had the strong impression that it was probably because of the welcoming party that _was_ actually there.

Namely, Ms. Potts, who he was sure had put the fear of God in whoever had dared to come to close.

She and Happy – his chauffeur/bodyguard – were waiting for him. He noticed the absence of Obadiah, but he was probably just busy running Stark Industries; otherwise he would not have missed the chance of seeing him. God knew Tony was more of a son to him than his own deadbeat kid.

He also noticed the presence of a wheelchair and paramedics, but he dismissed them quickly. “I’m not dead yet, you vultures”, he shooed.

“Could have fooled me”, Pepper scoffed.

He stepped closer to her, looking her up and down. “Your eyes are red. A few tears for your long-lost boss?”

She smirked. “Tears of joy. I’d hate to go back to A.I.M.”

“Yeah, well. I hope you enjoyed the vacation. It’s time to go back to work”, he said, leading them to the car.

Rhodey didn’t move. “My bosses want to see me. I’ll see you...when I see you.”

“A man of many words, that one”, Tony said, raising an eyebrow. He did wonder if scavenging the desert for ninety or so days after everybody had insisted it was a lost cause would reflect badly on Rhodey’s career in some way.

He wanted to convince himself they would be understanding, but...well, he wasn’t nine years old anymore. He knew better.

“Where to, sir?” Happy asked, soon as the doors of the car were closed.

“What’s the nearest fast food place available?”

“What? No, you should be resting. You’re not gonna eat fast food!” Pepper argued.

“Yes, I absolutely will.”

“No, you absolutely won’t! Your doctor emailed me the recommendations for –”

“Listen, I was held hostage in a cave eating porridge for three months, with a piece of metal stuck in my heart. Then I was in a hospital for two weeks, eating basically the same. There are two things I need; one is a greasy American cheeseburger, and the other is...” he bit down his lower lip.

Pepper squinted. “-definitely not going to happen.”

“...not what you think, is what I was gonna say. I need you to call me a press conference at Stark Industries. The sooner the better.”

“A press conference? What on Earth for?”

“Trust me, will you?”

“That is a VERY loaded request.”

“It is. But I know what I'm doing. For the first time in a while. And – Hogan? That burger?”

Pepper did not take his eyes off of him on the way back to Stark Industries. She was not entirely sure he was as sound of mind as he insisted. Maybe a piece of metal had ruptured through his skull and the doctors had not noticed it?

She had heard of weirded things.

But there was something strange, almost off-putting about Stark; she just couldn't put her finger on it. He had been awfully secretive during the week he had stayed at the hospital, and even now – upon his return – remained remarkably quiet, something she never thought was actually physically possible for Tony Stark to be.

If only he would clue her in in whatever it was going on in his mind, she could at least try to fathom what he had gone through! She knew it was bad enough that he had to survive with some kind of car battery attached to his chest, but even that didn't make any sense.

All she knew so far was that she and James had used every favor they had available to keep a search party going for a guy whose first conscious words after surgery were ‘they had a spaceship!’ – which, by all means, she was hoping was either the anesthetic speaking or some kind of metaphor.

Still, against her better judgement, Pepper did what he asked. Despite only having a 20-minute head-start, it wasn't actually hard to set up an interview with some of the most important local news - mostly because it already felt like a good deal of them had been hiding in the bushes around Stark Tower, waiting for Tony's arrival anyway. She also made a note to communicate to Obadiah of what Tony had in mind; though he had (rather rudely) dismissed her when she asked whether or not they would join them at the airport for his reception, she still thought he deserved to be clued in on what was about to happen.

Not surprisingly, then, that his shining bald head was the first thing they spotted once Happy made the curve around Howard Stark's statue in front of the Tower. He was there, surrounded by reporters, all charm and smiles, like the natural showman he was.

“-And I assure you, what Tony has to announce today, it will not leave you disappointed. Speaking of him, here he is, man of the hour!” he led the round of clapping, rushing in to help Tony out of the vehicle. “Sorry I couldn't be there to receive you, but you know –”

“Yeah, yeah, business was booming. I figured”, Tony said, munching down on a happy meal.

“Had to have a burger first, huh?” he wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Did you get me one of those?”

“There’s only one left, and I need it. You get one next time.”

“Fine, fine. Come on, let's get started!”

The crowd followed them to the convenience center, like a swarm of bees led by their queen. There were bright lights of cameras shining left and right; reporters trampled over each other, each trying to get a question in before the other. Some just trying to get close to Stark. Pepper stood back a little, watching as the theater unfolded. She couldn’t help but wonder how many puff pieces would come out of this in the next twelve hours or so, painting Stark as some kind of brave, heroic figure.

She made a mental note to make sure to line-up a handful of magazine covers for the following weeks, give out a couple of exclusive interviews. She had always told Stark he needed something to, well, humanize him in some way.

Getting kidnapped by terrorists wasn’t how she had envisioned it, but we take what we can get.

“Ms. Potts?” called a soft-spoken voice next to him, pulling her back to reality.

There was a...man standing next to her. Granted, yes, there were many men standing next to her, but something about this one in particular stood out like a sore thumb. It was perhaps the way he stood, tense and square, smiling at her that didn't come off as genuine; his receding hairline and the loosely-fitted suit gave off the impression that he should've been some sort of burger-grilling dad cooking in somebody's backyard barbecue instead of being there in front of her. Or, worse, a history teacher.

God. Anything but a history teacher.

“May I speak to you for a moment?” he continued.

“You already are.”

“In private, I meant.”

“Well, I’m not – I’m not really part of the press conference. But it’s already about to start, so-”

“I’m sorry, no, I’m not a reporter. I’m agent Phil Coulson, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

He handed her his card. She smiled, politely, but didn’t accept it. “Quite a mouthful.”

“I know. But Mr. Stark is already familiar with our work.”

“I’m certain he is. However, as I have told the DOD, and the FBI, and the CIA...”

“We are a...separate division”, Coulson interrupted. “Our focus is a little more _specific_. We’d like to debrief Mr. Stark about the circumstances that led to his escape.”

“Like I said, so would every other intelligent agency in the country.”

“But it’s in Mr. Stark’s best interest to prioritize us.”

She squinted. He still had his hand stretched out with the card on it. Something told her he was not the type to backing down.

Then again, when do men ever back down from anything?

“I’ll pass it along to him”, she said. “Now if you’d excuse me, the conference is about to start.”

“Of course, yes.”

He stepped back, disappearing into the crowd as quickly and swiftly as he had come into view. Pepper rolled the tip of her finger over the symbol on the card he’d handed her; an eagle, or some other such-like bird. Where had she heard that name before?

A couple of feet ahead of her, Obadiah took the stand. Tony, however, was a little more relaxed.

“You guys should sit down. Can we do that? Can we all sit down? Let's just sit down, stretch your legs. Good, yes, this way you can all see me and it's gonna be a little less formal.”

The reporters looked around at each other in confusion. _Was he serious?_ One of them mouthed to the other, who responded with a shrug. Tony had already sat down and crossed his legs, another sandwich seemly materializing in his hand. It didn't even look like he had any pockets.

Obadiah took a deep breathe, but followed suit, taking a spot at his side.

“Lots of new faces in the crowd today. Lots of old faces, too”, Tony said, almost wistful. “Good to see you all here. Didn’t think I would, to be honest. Lots of times, I didn’t even think I deserved to.”

His eyes wandered through the crowd, ‘til he met Pepper’s, who frowned.

“There are a lot of things that I wanted to say to people while I was...away. To people that are here”, he rested his hand over Obadiah’s knee, squeezing it gently. “And to people that aren't. Things I would've liked to say to my father, had I had the opportunity. Things I would like to ask. I never got to say goodbye to him, not properly anyway. Never got to discuss the future...my own, and of this company.”

“We all know he’d have been proud of what you've accomplished – what _we’ve_ accomplished”, Obadiah assured.

“Would he? Was he always proud of what he did? Was he ever conflicted? Did he ever have any doubt? I never really knew him. Not more than what the newsreels had to say about him. No more than what you guys probably know – not that most of you are old enough to have interviewed him anyway.” He winked to his audience. There was a row of almost uncomfortable chuckles. “The truth is that, judging by what I’ve seen, nothing we do here is worth of pride.”

Laughter died. It was quickly replaced by hushed murmurs.

“What _did_ you see, Mr. Stark?” ask a woman kneeling a little ahead of him. He recognized those blonde curls from more than just the usual interviews.

“I saw death, Ms. Everhart”, he said. “Death and destruction. I saw teenagers being shipped off to places they didn’t know, to fight for causes they didn't understand, against enemies that we ourselves created. I saw innocent people scarred and dying by the very weapons I created to defend and protect them. And you know what?”

Tony looked over to Obadiah, who had gotten a little more alarmed as his speech went on. He had even gone as far as removing his own shades. The reporters were hanging on to every word he was saying, scribbling notes on their notebooks without so much as looking at them.

“It was a _good_ thing. It opened my eyes. It made me realize that this world, this culture where men like me – like us – are never held accountable for our actions, for the things we do in our search for progress, needs to end. We need, we _have,_ to do better. That’s why...” he stood up, circling around until he was in front of the podium. “I’m shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark Industries.”

There was uproar to follow. Reporters got up, shoving themselves around trying to get more information. _What do you mean? What about the contracts? How did you escape? What happens next?_ They shouted, in a mess of voices one louder than the other. Obadiah was quick to step in, removing Tony from the microphone and assuring everyone they would clarify everything in a press release to follow.

“The important thing is that Tony is back!” He said, while not-so-gently leading his protégé off-stage. “And healthier than ever!”

His sympathy seemed to only last for as long as they were in front of the cameras. He led Tony as further away from the audience as possible, taking him into an upstairs meeting room – somewhere with audio muffling, preferably. And no windows.

Tony sank on the first swirling chair he found. Obadiah took a deep breathe, trying to put his feelings into proper words.

“What’s got into you? What were you _thinking_?” he asked, through gritted teeth.

“Didn’t you hear my speech? I thought I made myself pretty clear.”

“Okay, Tony. I understand that you may be traumatized by your experiences, but –”

“This is not about my trauma, Obbie. I mean, it is, but it goes beyond that. They...” he sighed. “They were _killing_ people.”

“What did you think weapons were made _for_?”

“ _Innocent_ people, Obadiah. They were _terrorists_. And they had our weapons.”

“Oh, so you get kidnapped by terrorists once, and suddenly ‘guns are bad, people’s lives are good’? God, what are you, the seventies?” Obadiah massaged his forehead. “Listen, I will support you in any decision you make, as I have always done, but the other shareholders – they may not be as keen to do so. I mean, the stocks tomorrow –”

“I’m predicting a 40% dip.”

“If we are being _very_ optimistic.”

“I am. I know I’m doing the right thing.”

“Yes, but this is not just about yourself, Tony. But the other shareholders –”

“Don’t we own the majority of the shares? Doesn’t that count for something?”

“It does. But you’re young, Tony – they see you as inexperienced. You’ve been in control of the company for, what, two or three years? Most of them think you're just the guy that poses for photos and shakes hands while the rest do actual business.”

Tony grounded his teeth tightly. He had heard that a thousand times before – someone was always comparing him, belittling him, looking down on him; his father, the people supposed to respect him, his mentor. Was he never gonna be able to get something right?

“I thought...I thought the Jericho project was supposed to change that”, he said, looking away.

“It was. And it helped. But you... you have a reputation of not being that committed to your causes. They won’t want to trust your ideas if they think you'll eventually get tired of playing business and move on to something else.”

Tony swallowed dry. “I’m not – I don’t do that anymore.”

“And I believe you, but it’s not me you need to convince. If you want to go through with this, you need a fallback plan. You need a business plan.”

“I have one!” he stood up, abruptly. “We have – there are options!”

“What options? Tony, we are weapon manufacturers. We have always been weapon manufacturers. Iron mongers. That's what we are known for.”

“Then we need to change that. We need to be better, do better. Invest on our other projects. Develop new products.”

“Like what? You want us to make pacifiers?”

“What about the arc reactor technology?”

Obadiah scoffed. “You know that was just bullshit. It was just to save face! Get some stupid award for being eco-friendly.”

“But it works. You know it works.”

“Yes, and if you stick a battery in a potato it charges your phone as well, but this isn’t a fourth grade science project. The arc is not cost efficient, we’ve always known that. Unless...” he smirked, stepping in closer so that there was very little distance between them. “There’s been a development I’m not aware of.”

Tony held back a smile. “Maybe so.”

“Is that right? After, what, thirty years?’

They stared at each other for a moment, each trying to see who would crack first. Stane bit down his tongue; he had been waiting to ask about it since the moment he heard the news, but he wasn’t gonna be the first to go there.

Tony would. “You should really never play poker. Your face gives it all away. Who told you? Was it Rhodey? I bet it was Rhodey.”

“It doesn’t matter. Show me.”

“But it was Rhodey, right? He was always a tattletale.”

“I want to see it”, Obadiah insisted, a little more emphatically.

Tony pulled off the cast holding his arm in place - they had done a very good job reconstructing the skin so it wouldn't look like he got scalped - opening the first buttons of his shirt. The light of the arc reactor reflected on Obadiah's eyes as he – almost tentatively – reached out for it, running the tip of his fingers over the cold metal.

He had seen the designs of it dozens of times before – envisioned by Harold, the world’s most powerful battery, a dream always out of reach. The doctors had done what they could to fix the tissues of his heart, but the damage done by the shrapnel had been too severe for them to try any further. Even with it removed, Tony would've still needed a pacemaker.

Now he had – the best technology could afford.

“Wow.”

“Wow is right. It _works_.”

“I can see that.”

“But do you _understand_? It _works_. It’s what we’re gonna use to revolutionize the world.”

Obadiah buttoned up his shirt, placing his hands on Tony’s shoulder. “I know what you mean. And I’m with you on this. But we’ll need to talk to the shareholders first.”

“I know. I know. And I know I should’ve at least given you a heads up but–”

“It doesn’t matter now. We’ll work it out from here. We’re a team, remember? But you gotta let me handle what’s coming. This is way out of your league here, kiddo.”

“At least I can always count on you to help me. I know this is going to work out.”

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

While Tony’s faith seemed to be strong, it was not one that the rest of the world shared.

Stark Industries’ shares went down further than excepted, and the dozens of puff pieces meant to inflate his ego came out questioning his morals, his commitment to his father’s legacy and worse – his sanity. The loudest voice against protesters seemed to be coming from the NRA, who saw Tony's decision as a heel-face-turn of sorts, and a direct affront to the American freedom.

If TV newscasters, directly or indirectly, urged those affiliated to Stark to jump ship as fast as they could, conspiracy theorists on the internet insisted that there was more than the world was seeing – that Tony had secured an exclusive contract with terrorists, that Tony himself was now a terrorist, that he had pledged alliance to the Islamic faith, that he had been replaced by a clone. There were videos insisting that the ‘Tony’ who'd returned was at least an inch taller than the original, or was a different man wearing a mask; they had pictures comparing and everything. Insisted that his nose was all different.

Much of it just boiled down to some racist rhetoric, trying to blame one ethnic group or another. One or another was a little more sensible, wondering who would step in to fill the void left by Stark Industries. Advanced Idea Mechanics? Pym Technologies? Hammer Industries? All they churned out was at least ten years behind Stark Industries’ products.

“Seems like the rest of the world will finally have to catch up”, Christine Everhart said, in her morning column, just before Pepper stepped into the room and turned off the TV.

After his chat with Obadiah, Tony had gotten... a little reclusive, to say the least. While she understood he needed his space, after a while Pepper just started getting worried.

And Pepper getting worried was never a good thing.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Stark?” she asked, standing a couple of feet away from him. Tony was standing in front of the wide windows that looked down on NYC, quietly watching the city’ comings and goings; he had something on his hands, which he was fidgeting with. “What...is that?”

“An arc reactor. Like the one we have downstairs. It’s the thing that's keeping me alive. Was, anyway”, he tossed it over his shoulder. Pepper was swift enough to catch it before it fell to the floor. “I built a new one this morning. More resistant. Better.”

Pepper rolled it over her fingers. It was surprisingly light, all things considered. Pretty, even. “What would you like me to do with it?”

“Throw it away. Melt it down. I don’t care”, he shrugged.

It seemed like a waste to throw it away. You never knew when that kind of thing could come in handy. “Anything else I can help you with?”

Tony paused for a long moment, mindlessly staring ahead. “Do you think I’m a good person, Ms. Potts?” he asked, after a while.

“I’m sorry?”

“How do you think people will remember me, years from now?”

“Well, that’s a, hmm, another very loaded question, Mr. Stark.”

“Is it? Because I feel like I know what I am. I’m no better than those terrorists – they pulled the trigger, but I was the one who put the gun in their hands. I’m...the bad guy, aren’t I, Pepper? Is that what I’ve become? Is that how history will look back at me as?”

She sighed. She had never expected this conversation to come – had hoped, yes, but in different circumstances, but never fully expected Tony to start looking at his life with a little more critical thinking. “I don’t know, Tony. How did you think it would be like?”

“I thought...” he paused, biting down his lower lip. “I thought I’d be a visionary. A revolutionary. A genius. Instead I’m... the thing children pray to keep away at night, when they hope a bomb with my name on it won’t fall on their heads. I’m a monster.”

“You didn’t build this company by yourself. You don’t need to shoulder all the blame.”

“But it's my name on the building outside. And it’s my name on the guns used to take people’s lives. I need to change this. I need to – I need to fix this.”

“Then you should start working. If someone can do it, it’s you, Mr. Stark.”

He smiled. Possibly the first genuine smile he remembered cracking in too long. “Thank you, Pepper. And I’m sorry to dump this on you. I just...don’t really have anyone.”

“What about Mr. Rhodes?”

Tony left out a strangled noise. “My situation with Rhodey is...complicated.”

“Sounds almost like a Facebook status.”

“Could’ve been. A long time ago”, he said, wistful, turning back to the window.

“Oh. _Oh_.”

“Yeah. But he had his career, and I had...daddy issues. I was in a bad place after my parents died, and I kinda went on a bender for a while. Partied a lot, traveled a lot, got a bunch of degrees that I won’t even need...he’s still my best friend, but we don’t hang out as often.”

“He never stopped looking for you. We never gave up looking for you.”

“Yeah, I’m still trying to decide whether or not I’m thankful for that.”

She took a shy step forward. “You know, at some point, you’re gonna have to start telling people what happened to you. I’ve had every agency known to man calling, even something called the Strategic Homeland Intervention –”

“Enforcement and Logistics Division. S.H.I.E.L.D.”, Tony interrupted, bitterly. "I don't wanna talk to these guys. I don't wanna talk to anyone. But I – I want you, no, I need you to do something for me.”

“Sure, boss. Anything.”

“I need you to find the family of Professor Ho Yinsen. He’s – _was_ a physicist. He’s got a son and a daughter. I need you to set up trust funds for them, college funds, the whole support system. I don’t want them to worry about money ever again, in their lives.”

“Of course. Was he...with you? There?”

“Yes. He saved my life. Many times. He was a true hero. The bravest man I’ve ever met. I can’t even begin to imagine how I could ever repay him.”

“Making sure nobody has to go through what he did is a start. At least we know you're in the right path.”

Tony wanted to believe that – he truly did.

But not everybody else was ready to cooperate.

 

* * * * *

 

Despite Tony’s many attempts at contacting him on the days to follow, Rhodey had remained worrisomely quiet. Of course, Tony knew they wouldn’t simply jump back to where they had left off in their friendship – in fact, for a long time Tony had thought he had burned that bridge down for good – but it was disconcerting that he hadn’t been picking up his calls.

Rhodey was...his best friend. Had been? Was. Cutting ties with him, even in his grief, was one of the stupidest decisions Tony had made; and definitely the worst one he’d make sober. They had managed to go back on speaking terms after a couple of years, but there was always a valley standing between them. Maybe that could’ve changed now – Rhodey _had_ spent a week by his bedside after the surgeries – but at this point Tony wasn’t entirely sure about it.

There was a chance (and a very real one at that) that Jim had not reached him because of an outside interference; his bosses, in other words.

To say that the government wasn’t a little peeved about his insistency on keeping mum over what had happened in Asia was an understatement. Tony was reluctant on telling them the truth because...well, a pilotable one-man army was exactly what he did not need to fall on the hands of any military workforce.

That was why, he realized, he needed to get ahead of the competition once more.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.? You up?” he called, stepping into his workshop.

The lights turned on. _For you, sir, always_ , the AI answered; its thick British accent a familiarity he had come to miss.

“Start a new project for me, would ya? Index it...Mark II.”

_A new missile, sir?_

_“_ No. Something better.”

_Would you like me to save it on the Stark Industries servers, sir?_

Tony hesitated. No doubt that the feds – or worse yet, S.H.I.E.L.D. – had already tapped his system; undoubtedly paranoid, thinking he had ties with their enemies, whoever those were. He didn’t want take the risk of it getting to them. “No. Save it on my personal files. And encrypt it, just to be sure.”

 _Right away, sir_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. said, before leaving Tony to his thoughts.

Using C.H.L.O.E. – Coolest Hard Light Organizer Ever – he tried his best to reconstruct a 3D version of the suit he and Yinsen had created. Putting it together and then tearing it apart limb by limb, he revisited the flaws of their project; what had worked? What hadn't worked? What could be improved, simplified, redone? Bettered?

As he did, he could almost hear Yinsen over his shoulder, commenting on every aspect of it. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to add some shoulder rockets to this thing?’ he would’ve asked, pushing his tiny glasses over his nose.

Wherever it was he was now, Tony was decided to make his sacrifice worth it.

As his assistant, he had Dum-E - though he was more of a setback than anything. Couldn’t follow orders to save his life. Fortunately for the machine, Tony still loved it: it had been the first thing Tony’d built, back when he still had to sneak into his father’s workshop to get anything done. He was what, nine back then? Probably. It was just a motorized arm, but it was meant to clean up after him, to make sure his dad wouldn’t get angry at him.

Of course, Harold did still get angry at him, but from then on it was for entirely different reasons.

Nonetheless, Tony had affection for the old thing. And it served to bounce off ideas on; like a coder’s rubber duck, except it was worth twenty times what any coder would make in five years.

While Dum-E registered the development of the new suit, its twin, Dum-B0 – a more advanced version, one he’d built a couple years after Dum-E's conception, but nonetheless equally frustrating – served to record Tony’s progress in testing it. _Progress_ , of course, is a very loose word, since most of the time the outcome was either Tony getting rocketed to the other side of the workshop or crashing through a wall when his jet boots malfunctioned, or accidentally blowing a hole on the floor because his repulsor fired in an inopportune time.

Needless to say, the people on the lower levels were...not very happy.

Neither was Pepper, it seemed. She came to the shop after a couple of days, though it did look like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“What is it about me calling you and you never answering?” Pepper asked. She had a cup of coffee that read ‘world’s okayest secretary’, which he had bought to her as a joke last Christmas. She had threatened to smack him on the head with it a couple of dozen times, but this was the first time she looked like she might actually do it.

“You know what they say about old habits, and that Bruce Willis movie”, he said, putting the powered glove away.

“Very funny. Have you been eating? You’ve been here for days.”

“I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

“You don’t _look_ fine." She scooped around, with an eyebrow raised. “I thought you said you weren’t making weapons anymore.”

“I’m not. These are not weapons. They are...” Dum-E left out a soft beep. He shushed it. “They are just some ideas I’ve been working on.”

“Right. Sure. I hope it’s good stuff – at least enough to impress Obadiah. He's upstairs, waiting for you.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m just here to tell you.”

Tony rushed upstairs. If Obadiah was around, it could only possibly mean one thing – the shareholders had met, and they had sent him as a messenger. Maybe hoping he wouldn’t shoot him down? An email would’ve been too impersonal. If things went wrong, they probably assumed he’d need someone to scream at.

Isn’t that what brats do?

Stane was at the piano when Tony arrived, with Pepper following on his footsteps. The first thing he sensed was that familiar smell of pizza that could’ve only come from one place.

“Joe’s pizza. Just like dad used to get. It went bad, huh?” he asked.

“Just because I brought your favorite pizza doesn’t mean it went bad”, Obadiah said, as he stopped playing.

“Right. And I was born yesterday”, he scoffed, sitting down. Pepperoni – he was really trying to get on his good side.

“It would have gone better if you were there.”

“Weren’t you the one to tell me to lay low, or was I hallucinating? I've been lying low, and you were supposed to take care of these guys.”

“What I meant", Obadiah said, coming sit next to him. Pepper was still standing, even after Tony gestured for her to come closer. “Was no partying. No doing anything reckless. This was a board of directors meeting. They expected you to be there.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve kept myself occupied.”

“But they think you've been ignoring them. They...” he paused. The corner of his eyes twitched. “The board is claiming you’re under post-traumatic stress. They’re filing an injunction.”

“Wait, what? What’s – what’s that supposed to mean?”

“They want you out. As soon as possible.”

“Why? ‘Cause of the 40 point-dip in the stocks? We knew that would happen.”

“Fifty-six and half”, Pepper corrected, cleaning her throat.

“It doesn’t matter! They can’t do this! Together we own the majority of the shares.”

“Yes, but the board members have rights, too”, Obadiah argued, pausing at every word as though he was speaking to a child. “They are making the case that you and this new...direction you're seeking for the company don’t align with the company’s best interest.”

“Because I’m being _responsible_? Because I’m doing the right thing? This is not _a_ new direction, this is the _right_ one!”

“ _I_ know that, and _you_ know that, but the board – they just don’t see it that way.”

“Well, then, that’s fine! That’s great.” He stood up abruptly, clenching his fists. “You know? That’s – that’s – whatever. I don’t –”

“Tony, listen –”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be in the workshop.”

“Hey, hey! Hey, Tony. Listen to me”, Obadiah said, reaching out for him. “I’m trying the best I can do turn this thing around, but you gotta give me something. Something to convince them you’re in the right track. If you could let me show them what you’ve done with that little thing...”

He tried to touch the arc reactor on Tony’s chest, but Stark brushed him off. “No. No, absolutely not.”

“It’s just – a bone to throw them.”

“No. No, didn’t you say it yourself? It was just for marketing? No, this stays with me.”

Obadiah sighed; it was hard to tell if from anger or resignation, or both. He looked at Pepper, but she simply gave him a shrug. “Can I at least see what you’re working on downstairs? There were noise complaints.”

“Not now. Not yet. But we’re getting there. Stay frosty, Obbie.”

Tony blew them both a kiss, before snatching a slice of pizza and bolting.

 

* * * * *

 

If the board wanted a reason to believe his intentions, he would give them one.

Something that would knock their socks off.

No matter how long it would take him – and it seemed it would take quite a while. At least for Tony’s standards.

While it had taken a little over three months to create Mark I, refining the process was much more difficult; getting the thrusters to function in a way that didn’t send him head-first into the nearest wall, or made him catch on fire at the slightest inconvenience. The trick was to find the perfect thrust capacity...and how to control it.

He’d often scrap the whole system and start it from scratch, a little more frustrated at each attempt (Dum-E dousing him with the fire hose didn’t help, much). “How am I gonna make this work?”, he’d ask out loud, but there was nobody to answer back. Just himself and his own frustration.

 _Maybe...maybe I'm going about it the wrong way_ , he thought, flipping through his notes on his computer. There was too much energy going into the thrust repulsors. Maybe that was the issue.

“Alright, alright. So. Test number...I don't remember. Day 11. Let's try this out, but this time, 1% thrust capacity”, he said, counting down to three and hoping he wouldn't end up with another concussion.

Much to his surprise, however, the thrusters coughed up, but activated, raising him just a couple of inches above the floor. He struggled to maintain his position, riding on the high of finally seeing his idea work, even if he couldn't go higher than a foot or so.

“It’s a start, though, it’s a start”, he told himself. He flailed his arms around a little, breathing hard. This was gonna work! Actually, really work! “Let’s try upping it to 3% now. See how that works out.”

His hands shaking, he pressed the activate button. Tony could feel the energy flow through the gloves and the boots, and before he knew it, he was in the air – for real, this time. He’d have cheered for how awesome it was, if he wasn’t so busy trying to control the damn thing; it was much easier in the simulation, with a joystick!

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_.

Tables were getting knocked over. Paper was being blown everywhere. Dum-E and Dum-B0 beeped worriedly as Tony flew from one side of the room to the other, screaming as he tried to avoid hitting a wall. Nothing had caught on fire yet, but at that point it was just a matter of time.

“This is fine! This is fine! This could be worse!” he laughed nervously, trying to get the hang of it. It was kinda like riding a bicycle, except he didn't really know how to do that, either.

But he got there. He’d done more difficult things.

It was all a matter of concentration. And spite. He didn’t know who he was spiting, but spite was definitely involved.

“Alright, so that’s – that’s done for. Let’s see what else we got.”

 

* * * * *

 

**AROUND THAT SAME TIME, SOMEWHERE IN ASIA.**

While Tony busied himself with his new toys - he wanted to add new features to it; make it a slicker, more powerful version than the original, while also making it shinier. Something that would scream ‘Stark’ – he failed to worry about his past projects.

Or, more specifically, who could get their hands on them.

Miles away from Stark Tower, a group of men combed through the deserts of Afghanistan with metal detectors, bent on finding any scrap of armor left on Stark’s awake. It was, of course, like putting together a jigsaw where half of the pieces were still missing; and under the blazing sun, that was far from anyone’s favorite activity.

They would never complain directly to their boss, who watched them avidly from over his car, least they would have to face the fury of the now one-eyed man. Wang-Chu had most of his face disfigured after the cave collapse, and much of his left side no longer worked how it was supposed to, but it wouldn’t stop him from bringing his fury down on anyone who dared to question his reasoning. For that, the other men from the Ten Rings would not speak out against him, but it didn’t stop them from murmuring between each other.

“This is stupid”, one of them said to the other, while they shoveled through the sand, only to have the dunes shift and force them to start all over again. “It’s not like we’ll find anything here.”

“Shut up”, the other answer, through ground teeth. “Keep digging.”

Just then, the first to speak moved a couple of feet, and soon thereafter found himself being plunged, face-first, in the sand, as he foot got caught on something.

Something that was definitely not a rock.

“Told you we’d find something”, the second man said, elbowing the first on the ribs, as they plucked Mark I's helmet from the sand.

The metal piece was almost as quickly snatched from their hands by Wang-Chu, who grabbed it as soon as he realized what they'd found. “I think it’s time to start contacting our colleagues in America”, he said, admiring his own reflection in the mirrored surface. “We have a deal to renegotiate.”

 

* * * * *

  

Tony closed the front face of the new helmet with a clicking sound. Inside the final product felt a little more claustrophobic than what he remembered; maybe he had underestimated how slim his waist still was.

Should probably go back to hitting the gym, he thought. Then again, he didn’t remember the last time he had gone to the gym anyway. He knew there was one somewhere in the building.

Well, a sauna at least.

That much he remembered.

The lights turned on in the suit once it was fully equipped. Graphics, shapes and parameters lit up all around him, zooming in on details all around the workshops. It was like seeing the world through a machine's eyes. He wondered if that was what his dad saw when he looked at a new piece of equipment.

A familiar voice came to welcome him. _Hello, sir_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

“You fully uploaded yet, buddy?”

_Indeed, sir. Online and ready._

_“_ Great, I’m gonna need a co-pilot while I get the hang on this thing. Can we get started?”

_I’m checking the surfaces and calibrating your virtual environment. We’re ready to go._

“Play something nice for me while you’re at it as well, would ya?”

_Very well, sir._

Tony felt the – now familiar – vibrating of the machine powering up. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to push his self-doubts away. That was...not a good idea.

The first rule of flying was to keep your eyes on where you’re going.

He shot through the window, incinerating the glass on his way out, plunging himself into the night sky of Manhattan. Barely able to scream over the music blaring on his ears – what was it, Led Zeppelin? Queen? A bunch of goats on an open field? Who the hell knew. He never got the hang of that old stuff – Tony managed to pull back just before he hit the pavement down below, the mechanics screeching under the strain.

_Sir, I believe there are still terabytes of calculation necessary for you to properly fly. I would advise –_

“Come on, J.A.R.V.I.S.! We can do this! Have a little faith, would you?”

_You did not program me with faith, sir._

“Woah now! Is that humor? Watch out J.A.R.V.I.S., it starts like that and it ends with up going Terminator on my ass!” he laughed, launching himself through the streets of New York.

Tony sped by the streets, zig-zagging between the cars, enjoying the face of bewildered drivers and passengers; a little boy on a bus seemed so shocked he dropped his ice cream on his lap and didn’t even notice. The suit matched his movements like a second skin, sometimes being half-way through a movement even before Tony had finished thinking about it.

Drawing circles around the old Baxter building, he flew into the sky – up, up and away, as far as the engines could take him, against his AI’s better judgement, until he could turn around and see the city as nothing more than a thousand lights, blinking under him.

Poetic, almost.

 _Don’t you think it's time to return, sir?_ J.A.R.V.I.S. asked. _I predict the jet will begin to lose power if we stay on air for much longer. Also, Ms. Potts is waiting for you._

 _Oh, no_ , he whispered. He couldn’t tell which was worse – falling to his death on New York bay or facing Pepper after breaking through the glass of his workshop.

Either way he was gonna be in a coffin soon enough.

“Honey, I’m home”, he said, jokingly, flying back through the same window he had crashed minutes before.

Pepper was standing in front of him, holding a little white box with an envelope on top of it, her jaw clenched so tightly if he rubbed a diamond against it, it would’ve shattered. Despite him flying in on a super-powered suit, she did not even flinch. To be fair, that was not the weirdest thing she had ever caught him doing.

“People were calling me,” she said, with the usual note of bottled up anger in her tone. “They thought they saw a robot being thrown to its death from your balcony. They thought it was an attempt at your life.”

“They can sleep safely at night knowing nothing happened, then.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. “Not to sound like a broken record, but – didn’t you tell me you had stopped making weapons? What the hell is this?”

“I did, yes”, he said. With the pressing of a button, the suit began to dissemble, folding itself back like wrinkled paper. “And this – this is not a weapon.”

“Really? Because it looks like one to me.”

“No, it’s not. Listen. This...is the future of Stark Industries. Of the world!”

“You and I are looking at very different things, then.”

“We’re not. We’re not! Pepper. Remember when you told me you don’t really trust cops?”

“I didn’t tell you anything. I was talking to my sister on the phone. You were snooping in.”

“Potato, tomato. The important thing – you were right. Cops fail! Either because they are incompetent or because they are killable”, he stepped closer to her, now fully out of the suit, his hands pressed together in front of his face. “But imagine if, instead of a hundred cops, we had a fleet of these super-suits. Fully functional, bullet-proof, fire-proof, void of lethal weapons – defense machines that can be operated manually or through an AI, from afar. Able to get anywhere at any moment. We could stop crimes – we could stop wars! No need for soldiers to go to war when there are no more wars to fight!”

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes squinting at him. Tony looked back at her, optimistically. He knew he was in the right track. He could make it work.

To his surprise, however, Pepper just...started laughing.

“You cannot _possibly_ be serious”, she said, shaking her head.

“What? Why? Why not?”

“Tony, the moment the government got their hands on this, they would put guns on them, and do exactly the opposite of what you have in mind.”

“But we _wouldn’t_ hand them over to the government. Stark Industries would have control over the entire equipment. We would be the ones doing the service.”

“Ah. I see. So you want to privatize world peace?”

He was going to respond, but he didn't really have quite the right words for that. “The way you put it...”

“How else did you expect this to go down? A legion of – of Iron Men protecting the world?” she scoffed, putting the box on the nearest table. “If this tech falls into the wrong hands, you won’t be dealing with _just_ a Jericho-missile level of problem. You could make things so, so, _so_ much worse.”

Before he could counter her, she had already stepped out of the room, leaving Tony alone with his own consuming thoughts. Part of him wanted to believe that she was right, and this was a terrible mistake; but the other side of him was convinced of the opposite. This was the solution. This was gonna change the world.

He just needed people to believe that too.

 

* * * * *

 

Pepper’s package sat perfectly still next to his computer for the days to follow - like a terrible, nagging memory that kept showing up on his peripheral view whenever he wasn’t paying attention.

Nevertheless, he chose not to open it. He was annoyed with her. That would _show her_ he was annoyed with her, even if she wasn’t going to...actually...know it. But it was the thought that counted! And in spite of the fact that he was constantly thinking about it, he would not bend or break.

Even if he really, really, _really_ wanted to.

At least he had something to keep his mind occupied. Keep working, keep improving, keep yourself busy – a mantra to follow by heart. “So, J.A.R.V.I.S., what’s the status?” he asked, as his computer ran diagnosis on the suit’s durability.

_My calculations show that the main transducer lags at plus 40 altitude, sir. It is affecting hull pressurization in at least twenty percent. It's an icing issue._

“Guess that means we can’t sell it as a next-level astronaut suit”, he joked. “Connect to the sys. co. Have it reconfigure the shell metals. Use the gold titanium alloy from the seraphim tactical satellite. That should probably ensure a fuselage integrity while maintaining power-to-weight ratio. Got it?”

 _Yes, sir_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. promptly answered. _Shall I render using proposed specifications?_

“Surprise me.”

Tony swirled around in his chair while J.A.R.V.I.S. went to town on his designs, redesigning his schematics. He switched on the TV, just in time to catch the last of the news report – though as it turned out, he wasn't entire sure whether or not that was a good thing.

There was a live news report about a fundraiser, which didn't seem like a big deal to him, except his name was attached to it.

“Stark’s annual benefit for the Firefight’s Family Fund has become the place for New York City's high society to meet this evening, as many expect to see whether or not the patron will come this evening”, said the reporter. “Anthony Stark hasn’t been seen in public since his bizarre and highly controversial press conference, with some unofficial sources claiming Stark is suffering from post-traumatic stress and has been bedridden for weeks. Whatever the case may be, the public –”

Tony turned off the TV when they started showing his picture from the day. Not exactly the most flattering one they had chosen; he looked like a deer caught in the red lights.

“J-Man, have we received an invitation for this?” he asked.

 _I think Ms. Potts may have mentioned it once or twenty times, sir_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. answered. _You may also want to check the envelope she left alongside your present._

“Right. Right, I knew that”, he huffed, but picked the envelope anyway.

There was a thin, plastic-like slice of fiber inside. It was completely transparent, up until the moment Tony pressed his thumb against it; it then lit up, revealing the actual invitation card.

Courtesy of Stark Industries, blah blah blah, etc. etc. etc., and then in cursive letters: _Anthony Edward Stark, Guest of Honor_.

Strange. He didn’t really feel honored

Tapping on it twice, he turned the screen off, casting the invite aside. Who even had time to think about going to parties? Not him, that was for sure.

 _Rendering is complete_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. announced. He turned back to the screen, to find his suit had gone from shining grey to almost rose gold.

“A little ostentatious, don’t you think?”

_Right. You're usually so discreet._

_“_ Watch it with the sarcasm, GLaDOS.”

He reached out for Pepper's box, running his fingers over the bright-red bow she had so carefully tied over it. Probably she herself had done it. It was a very...Pepper thing to do, that was for sure.

 _“_ Tell you what”, he said, back to reality. “Why don't you throw a little hot-rod red in there. See how it looks.”

_Yes, that should help you keep a low profile for sure._

He watched as the computer rendered the image. Overlapping the red and the gold made the suit look more...intimidating. He liked it. “Fabricate it. Paint it.”

_Very well. Commencing automated assembly. Estimated completion time is five hours._

He leaned back on his chair, arms folded behind his back. Five damn hours? He was hoping to go for another spin, but by then it wouldn’t be as fun anymore. But then, what else could he possibly do for five hours?

Well. Now that he thought about it...there was one thing.

What was it that they said? A little party never killed anyone?

 

 

* * * * *

 

**DISNEY HALL, TWENTY FIVE MINUTES LATER**

 Stark’s Porsche pulled up in front of the convention center where the event was being hosted. He threw the key at the valet, saying a ‘you can keep the car’ – much to the complete shock of the young man – before heading inside, where the fun was waiting for him.

Although, what he got on the way in was mainly just shocked looks all around.

All cameras turned to him, photographers elbowing each other to try and get the best angle. “Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, over here, to the Daily Bugle!” shouted a kid (or a man whose balls hadn’t dropped quite yet), pointing at his camera. Tony smiled and turned to him, raising two fingers in a V formation.

Peace. Wasn’t that what they were all about?

Obadiah was a couple of feet away from him, already giving his interview. “Weapons manufacturing was only one small part of what Stark Industries is about. Our partnership with the community and the fire depart-“ he was saying, before the screams of the people behind him drowned his voice out. Even the reporter interviewing him moved away to look at the commotion.

Not the first time that had happened. He already knew what was going on even before turning around to look.

 _“_ Tony! You...came”, Obadiah said, trying not to convey his surprise – but, again, his poker face was the worst.

 _“_ What’s the world coming to that a dude needs to crash his own damn party?” he said, wrapping an arm around Stane’s shoulder. They smiled for the paparazzi, although Obadiah was a little less enthusiastic than before. “I’ll see you inside in a bit.”

“Hey, hey, listen”, Stane pulled him back. “Go slow, alright? Remember, the board is always watching.”

“Sure thing. Don’t worry about it. Just cabin fever! I’ll just be in and out in a minute.”

He winked, throwing a pair of finger-guns at him, before heading inside. Obadiah sighed, knowing the night wouldn't go out the way either of them thought.

Inside the building, the place was crowded. The 1%, _crème-de-la-crème_ of high society, seemed to have gathered to thrown a couple thousands for a good cause, as they always did around that time of the year. Tony scoped around, zeroing on the face he had been looking for.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in”, he said, approaching the bar.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that? I was here first”, Jim said, stirring his Scotch. Tony gestured for the bartender to bring him one as well.

“Yeah, but you were the one who’s been ghosting me for weeks”, he said, leaning against the counter.

“I wasn’t ghosting you”, Rhodey groaned.

“What, are the kids using a different name for that nowadays? Listen, I know that what I did may have affected you –”

“ _May_ have?” he scoffed. “How do you think my superiors reacted when they found out our biggest supplier had decided to go out of business? The guy I had spent months searching for in the desert?”

“Yeah, I know that. But the thing is –”

“No, Tony. I don’t think you know. Your little...humanitarian stunt, where do you think that is gonna lead?”

“I’m working on something. Something big. Something...extraordinary.”

“Right. Last time you said that you built yourself a fake girlfriend and when it blew up, you almost got circumcised.”

“That was twelve years ago.”

“And you’re still just as reckless.” Rhodey draw the rest of his Scotch, swallowing hard. “I think you need to think hard before you do any more of your...decisions. And then miss me with them.”

And just like that, he walked out, before Tony could even protest. Not that he would've said anything either way - he was tired. Tired of always having to explain himself to everybody. Why couldn’t they just...trust him? Believe him? Was that hard? How could he prove himself if there wasn’t a single vote of confidence coming his way?

He huffed, putting his glass down. No wonder the board couldn’t trust him – nobody else did.

Just then, on the corner of his eyes, he noticed there was something staring intensely at him. A man. Short; couldn't tell if he had a big forehead or a growing bald spot. Older. Not his type.

The man was staring at him with a smile that was so creepy it boarded on unsettling. Shit. Did they do body checks before they let these people in there?

“Mr. Stark, may I speak with you for a moment, in private?” he asked, politely.

“Uh – listen, man, I'm flattered, and I if I was drunk enough, it could even make it work, but –”

The man coughed, turning bright red very quickly. “No, Mr. Stark – my name is Phil Coulson. Agent Phil Coulson. I'm the Strategic Homeland Interve–”

“Ugh, right. You people”, Tony interrupted, exasperated. He’d rather the dude’d been a groupie. “Pass.”

“Mr. Stark, I understand this may be a trying time for you, but I’m afraid we need to debrief you. There are still a lot of unanswered questions, and time can be a factor with these things. If we could perhaps schedule something – I’m thinking next Monday, but it can be earlier...Mr. Stark?”

But Tony wasn't listening by then. His attention had drifted all the way to the other side of the room. First to where Rhodey was, talking to a beautiful black lady with curly hair – perhaps the mysterious pilot Tony had heard so much about? (He had not actually heard anything, but he had contacts, and he liked to lurk a lot on his downtime) Then another sighing caught his attention, as Pepper came into view.

God. He barely even recognized her at first. She looked... _splendid_ was the first word that came to his mind, but that wasn’t enough to convey it. Maybe it was the fact that this was the first sip of alcohol he’d had in almost a semester, but at that moment, in her beautiful open back dark-blue dress, with her hair styled in waves, she was otherworldly, almost.

“Will you excuse me for a moment, Phil? I have somewhere more important to be”, Tony said, before ditching Agent Coulson.

“But Mr. Stark –”

“Call my assistant and we’ll see if we can schedule anything”, he said, without taking his eyes off of her. “In fact, I’m going to speak with her right now.”

He stepped closer to her, leaving his half-drank glass on the table. He was suddenly very aware of himself; his palms were even sweating a little. Was that normal? That couldn't possibly be normal. Was he nervous? Why would he be nervous?

He waited until the couple talking to her left the vicinities to approach her properly. “You look fantastic”, he said, cleaning his throat to get her attention. She turned to him, and her smile froze. “Barely recognized you.”

“You came”, she said.

“You sound surprised.”

“You never confirmed whether or not you would. Are you by yourself?”

“Have been for a while. Where did you get this dress?”

“It was a birthday present.”

“Vera Wong? That's great.”

“From you, actually”, she added, with a smirk.

“Oh. I don’t remember that.”

“Should check your credit card balance more often.”

“So you bought it?”

“Of course. I would never wear something I found in your closet.”

“I don’t know why. I have a very good sense of style – although I don’t think I could fit in this size. What are you, a size 4?”

She rolled eyes. “Very funny.”

“I’m serious. You wanna dance?”

“Oh, no. Definitely not.”

“Come on, now. Don't be shy.”

He offered her his hand, pouting and throwing his best puppy-dog eyes at her. She sighed, resigned, and followed along with him. Tony placed a hand around her waist, bringing her a little closer to him.

She was...stiff, to say the least. He wasn’t that much more comfortable, either, but he also had no idea how else he could approach the situation.

Pepper was...important to him. Not just as his secretary. She was someone that he had grown to care about. Someone that could keep him in check. His voice of reason, more often than not. But, for once, he felt like it was her turn to trust that he knew he was doing, even if he hadn’t been a...let’s say ‘handful’...of other times.

“Hey, I just...wanted to say sorry. For the other day”, he started, toeing the line. “I understand – I know what you meant. Where your concerns are coming from. I just...I feel like I’m in the right path here. This is the right thing for me to do, but I...I will need your help in this. It’s exactly for this kind of stuff that I need your insights.”

“It’s alright, Tony. Like I said in the gift, I understand your intentions”, she said, shifting a little.

“Right. In...the...gift...”

“You didn’t actually open it, did you?”

“I did! I mean, I – I –”

“It’s still on your desk, isn’t it?”

“It’s closer now, than it was before! So that’s something.”

She rolled her eyes. Somehow that should have been expected.

At least it served to lighten the mood, if ever so slightly.

“You know, people are staring at us”, she said, in a low voice.

“That’s good, you look stunning tonight.”

“It’s not because of that”, she scoffed.

He frowned, genuinely confused. “Why, then?”

“Because I am dancing with my boss in front of half of New York’s Upper East Side?”

“Since when is that a problem?”

“Tony!”

“Well...” he pulled away from her, giving her a little twirl. “Would you rather I fired you, then? That would make things easier.”

“Please. You wouldn’t last a day without me.”

“Harsh. I’m sure I would last at least a week.”

She stepped closer to him again. “Really? What's your social security number, then?”

He pursed his lips tightly. “...Five.”

“Five?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Aren’t you missing a couple of digits?”

“The other eight? That’s what I got you for. I know you’d always be there when I need you.”

They looked at each other for a moment. The sound of the music around them seemed to fade, the chattering of the other guests nothing but a distant mumbling. He smiled, unsure, his finger tracing the side of her face; he brushed a curl away, and she leaned a little closer to his hand.

He drew a little heart-shaped circle with his thumb on her cheek. Pepper bit down her lower lip. “I think I – I think I need some air.”

“Yes. Yes. Air would be good.”

It was as though the enchantment had been lifted, and suddenly they were back on the dancefloor, surrounded by one too many cameras. He pulled the collar of his shirt, adjusting his bowtie. Was it suddenly very hot in there, or had that tux gotten a size too small?

Pepper led the way to the balcony. Both of them could feel there were always staring down at them – gazes full of double-entendres and malicious intents. She pressed herself against the hard, old wall, where an ugly gargoyle looked down on the city with disdain.

“That was weird”, she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

“No, it was fine. Totally fine.”

“It wasn’t fine. You know it wasn’t fine.”

“It’s a party, we're supposed to be socializing.”

“Everybody who I work with – you know what people would be saying?”

“We were just dancing. It was harmless.”

“It wasn’t – Tony, it wasn't just a dance. You can’t understand this because you’re... you’re you, and – and everybody knows exactly who you are and how you are with – with women and – and men, sometimes, too – and that’s fine! But you’re my boss, and I’m – I’m dancing with you...”

“Nobody is gonna think –”

“They will! They will because they always do, and it’s gonna make me look like I’m one of those – one of those who’s trying to, you know –”

“Let them think whatever they want! I don’t care.”

“That is the point! That’s the problem - I do! It’s my career in line. I’m here, with you, and we’re dancing, and lines are getting blurred, and I don’t - I don’t even know if... and you and Mr. Rhodes –”

“That was a long time ago,” Tony cut short. “We’re just friends. Best friends. It’s...with you, it’s different.”

He reached out and took her hand. Pepper flinched for a second, but didn't pull away; she left their fingers intertwine, her eyes once again getting caught on his. Under the cold late-night breeze, with the city as a backdrop and not a soul around to witness, it seemed like the perfect moment.

They leaned closer to one another, so much so their noses were almost touching. She could smell the scotch in his breath; he could hear the sound of her heart beating, faster than usual. In that moment, they both waited for the other to close the distance, take that last step.

But neither one was willing to do it.

“I think I need a drink”, Pepper said, backing away.

Tony let go of her hand. “A drink. Right, yeah. Me too.”

“A vodka martini, if you don’t mind. Very dry. Lots of olives. As many as you can put in.”

“Sure. Got it.”

Tony was quick to leave the scene, before the situation got any more uncomfortable. Pepper waited for him, letting the wind blow in her hair. She had figured this moment would come, sooner or later; at some point, she and Tony would have to start associating words to the things they had between them – so that she could promptly and swiftly shut him down.

Not because she didn’t have feelings for him – she did, and she regretted them. He was her boss, and the last thing she would want was rumors of them being more than just employer-employee.

There was already one too many jokes about her changing his diapers. She hadn’t gone to Business school to be known as ‘Tony Stark’s next sidepiece’.

 _I’m gonna tell him that_ , she decided. _Right now_.

Unfortunately (or not), by the time she returned to the party, she couldn’t find even Tony’s shadow, much less Tony himself. What she _did_ find, however, was a little more… concerning.

There was a tall, beautiful, Italian-enough-to-pass-as-Latina figure near a plant on the other side of the ballroom; she would have recognized that long, flowing, grey-streaked black hair (a bold choice for someone nearing her 50s) anywhere in the world.

Ms. Monica Rappaccini, her old boss, had not aged a day in three years. It was not her long, chiseled chin that caught Pepper’s attention, however, but the fact that she was standing just a couple of feet away from Obadiah Stane.

They were staring at opposite directions, but Pepper knew enough about body language to read between the lines: being far apart enough to seem casual, close enough they could hear each other whisper; Rappaccini had her mouth covered by her drink, even though she had yet to take a single sip of it, while Obadiah kept scratching that disgusting old man beard that made her skin crawl.

“Something is up”, she muttered.

“What is up, Ms. Potts?” asked someone next to her.

Startled, she turned to see James Rhodes by her side.

“I’m sorry?”

“You said _something_ was up. Is Tony doing something I should worry about?”

She almost laughed. That seemed to be people’s general reaction to whenever she looked worried.

For the first time in a while, surprisingly, it wasn’t about him.

“It’s something else”, she said, nodding to the other side of the room with her head.

He looked over across the room, scooping around but coming up empty. Frustrating, but not unexpected – not everybody can be quite as observant as her.

But even after she ran her thoughts through, Rhodey still didn’t seem convinced. “It’s a party, Ms. Potts. People are meant to socialize. You and Tony –”

“Don’t. Even. Finish that sentence”, she said, raising a very rigid finger. He shut up real quickly. "And if they were meant to socialize, why not actually talk, then? Unless – unless they were worried that if something came up, pictures of them together could connect either to it.”

“What are you suggesting? Why would A.I.M. and Stark Industries be in cahoots?”

Pepper ground her teeth. That was a good question. A very good question. In fact, she now remembered asking herself that exact same question a handful of years ago, when she saw her old boss going on _golf trips_ with that very same Obadiah Stane. Hmm... “That’s what I need to find out. Wait - shit. She saw me. She’s coming here. Act natural. Act natural.”

“I _am_ acting natural, you need to breathe", Rhodey said, with a funny grimace.

Rappaccini had spotted the two of them from a distance, opening a cheerful smile that seemed as false as the one that Pepper was trying to put on at that very moment. She made her way through the crowd, a green blur crossing through the sea of plain black dresses, 'til she was standing in front of the uncomfortable duo.

“Virginia Potts! How long has it been?” she asked, pressing her cheek against Pepper’s. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“I could say the same.”

“Oh, you’re too kind. It’s true, but still...” she flipped her hair back. “And you’re still working for Stark, I see.”

“Very much so.”

“Still his babysitter.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Not in so many words, anyway”, Rappaccini chuckled. “You could’ve gotten very far if you’d stayed at A.I.M.”

“I guess so...but I enjoy not having to report my boss to HR every three months for sexual harassment”, Pepper shrugged. “At least Mr. Stark has never tried to grope me.”

She elbowed Rhodey on the ribs before he could start snorting.

Monica ignored it. Her smile didn’t even flicker. “Well, you know how George is. Always a flirt.”

“You call it a flirt. I’d call it something else, but we're in public, so...”

Rhodey cleaned his throat, calling attention to himself to try and defuse the situation.

“I’m sorry. How rude. This is Mr. James Rhodes, my – Mr. Stark’s friend. Mr. Rhodes, this is Monica Rappaccini, head of A.I.M., my former boss.”

“I’d say I’m the brains of the organization. Tarleton is the head”, she said, extending her hand to Rhodes.

Pepper would’ve said that Mr. Tarleton was the ass instead, but that would sound terribly impolite.

“Are you two...together?” Rappaccini asked, looking over from Pepper from Rhodes. She took one long, hard look at him, and Jim had a sudden but very clear understanding of what it felt like to get catcalled.

“No, I’m – I’m actually with someone, although I don’t...know where she is", he said, easing his collar.

Monica pouted. “Shame. You two would make a cute couple.”

“Not really”, they answered, in unison.

She laughed. “If you say so. It was nice seeing you, Ms. Potts. I hope it will happen again sometime soon. Now, if you excuse me...”

Taking her leave, she disappeared quickly into the crowd, while they stayed put, trying to maintain their smiles long enough to not seem rude. Pepper thought her jaw would shatter.

“You know, I've known this lady for five minutes and I already have a distinct idea of what her browser history looks like”, Rhodes said, when she was out of their hearing range.

“You and me both. But at least now I know for sure she is up to something.”

“How can you POSSIBLY know that?”

“Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. I need to get to Stark Tower.”

“At this time?”

“The sooner the better.”

“Well, I... I have to get back to the base. I can give you a lift.”

“Great, thank you. Where is Tony?”

“That’s...a good question.”

They looked around the ball room, said question repeating over their heads: where the hell was Anthony Stark?

The answer was...well, complicated.

 

* * * * *

 

  **STARK FUNDRAISER, MINUTES EARLIER.**

 Over the years, Tony had gotten very good at dodging awkward situations that would require him to talk about his feelings (he had to have picked up SOMETHING from his dad, after all), so when the opportunity presented itself to escape, he embraced it – even if it only took him as far as to the bar. That was better than nothing.

“Two martinis. Dry. Drown one in olives if you can, would ya?” he asked the bartender, waving a 100-dollar bill at him.

“Are you sure you should be drinking? In your condition?” someone asked, taking the spot next to him.

He recognized the familiar face of Christine Everhart, even if she was not as welcoming as she’d once been.

“What condition?” he asked.

“Weren’t you bed-ridden? Isn’t that why they’ve removed you from your position at Stark Industries?”

 _So they already removed me?_ he thought, bitterly. Did Obadiah forget to inform him of that little detail? It didn’t seem like the kind of thing that he would do.

“Well, the rumors of my sickness were grossly exaggerated", he said, chugging down his drink the moment it arrived.

“Is that so? Makes me wonder what else Stark Industries has been lying about”, she said, placing a handful of photos on the table.

“What are those?”

“Pictures.”

“No shit. Of _what_ , Ms. Everhart?”

“Why don’t you take a look?”

He did – and immediately wished he hadn’t. The pictures were from a place similar to where he had escaped: the desert seemed familiar, as did the marks and scars on the people photographed; the people and the animals lying dead. That in itself was terrible, but what truly worried him were the shots where he could see stacks of Stark-branded weapons scattered in the background... including of the Jericho missile.

“Where did you get these?” he asked, nervously.

“It’s from a town called Timbetpal, I don’t know if you've heard of it. One of our reporters took them. _Yesterday_.”

“That’s – that’s impossible. I didn’t approve any shipments.”

“And yet...” She motioned to get them back, but Tony kept his hand over them. “You know, I _almost_ believed in your speech. So inspiring! So heartfelt! But a leopard can’t change its spots, can it? If _this_ is the meant to be the kind of accountability you’re offering…”

“This is not my doing.”

“It’s your company’s.”

“I’m not my company.”

“Who is, then?”

She stared at him, defiantly. Tony would’ve stared back, but he was directing his attention somewhere else. She had, after all, raised an important question – if he wasn’t the doing calling the shots, someone else was.

And that someone else had a bald head that could be seen from the moon.

“I will deal with this. You can be sure of that”, he said.

Tony donned down Pepper’s drink, almost drowning himself in olives, before he marched over to where Obadiah was, apparently hiding behind a bush or something. Not so gently, he grabbed Stane by the arm, dragging him out of the ballroom and into the nearest dark corridor available.

Any other time, he’d at least try to be polite about it, but he wasn’t really in the mood.

“Can you explain this to me?” he asked, shoving the pictures on Obadiah’s chest before he could even get a word in.

“Tony –”

“What is going on here, Obbie? Have we not shut down weapon production?”

“Tony – it’s complicated.”

“Complicated? How is it complicated? We had a very clear goal in mind.”

“Yes, Tony, but we also have _contracts_. Contracts that we need to fulfil.”

“Cancel them!”

“Cancel–” Obadiah laughed, scornful. “Cancel them? And return the billions of dollars in investments? Then billions more in lawsuits? And be forced to shut down our factories – fire our people? You cannot be this naïve.”

“I was naïve before – when they told me ‘here is a line, we won’t cross it anymore, this is how we do business’. If we’re double-dealing under the table... are we?”

Obadiah didn't answer immediately. He had a hand resting over Tony’s shoulder, clenched; his face had gone dark and hardened, and Tony started to wonder if he had been wrong about Stane’s poker face.

“You have a list – the receipts of all the people we deal with. You triple-checked it. We’re in the clear. There is no Muhammad so-and-so from Such-and-Suchkistan on them. If...if these people got their hands on our weapons, that’s not our problem. There is nothing we can do about it.”

“Maybe not _you_ ," Tony corrected. The thought had occurred to him now, and he knew exactly what to do. “Can you call me a cab?”

“A cab? Where is your car?”

“I gave it to the valet, and Happy has the week off.”

“You gave your –!”

“He was a kid. Probably can use it to pay for college. I don’t care; I have like five of those. Can you do it or not?”

“Take my car. I'm probably not gonna leave here alone, anyway.”

“Ew, gross.”

The thought of Obadiah having an active sex life was more traumatizing than 3 months sleeping next to cockroaches or having someone shove their entire hand inside his chest to turn on his arc reactor.

 

* * * * *

 

It took about five minutes to get from the convention center to Stark Tower. Tony was fairly sure he had violated about twenty or so traffic laws and almost run over a mailbox on the way, but the car was also on Obadiah’s name, so he didn't really care that much.

The place was empty and dark, and the lights on the STARK name upfront had been dimmed until they were almost off. It felt like he was about to step into the cut-scene of a boss battle, and weaponized versions of his Board of Directors were about to step out of elevators, out for blood.

He made the mental note of firing their night guards, if that was how they handled security in that building.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.? How is progress going?” he asked, as soon as he stepped back into the workshop.

 _Almost done, sir_ , the AI answered, lighting up the room.

“I need to make some modifications on the project. We need to weaponize it.”

_Weaponize it, sir? Is it not meant to be a peacekeeper project?_

_“_ There is more than one way to keep the peace.”

He threw himself over at his chair, setting up the changes on his model. In his mind, Tony knew exactly what the suit needed: it wasn't just about speed and flight. It needed to be destructive.

 _It will take a couple of more hours to put it in effect, sir_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. explained.

“No, we need to hurry up. Connect to the mainframe of the arc reactor downstairs, raise the power to 100% and then triple it. There is no time to waste.”

_But sir –_

_“_ No buts, J.A.R.V.I.S.” he cut short. “And while you’re at it, find me anything you have on the current situation on Timbetpal. News casts, live broadcasts, whatever.”

The lights on the room blinked a couple of times, and the image of his computer flickered as J.A.R.V.I.S. began powering up the equipment. Once it was stabilized, the TV turned itself on, channels passing until it reached what Tony was looking for.

 _“_ The situation in Timbetpal is dire, as refugees continue to flee the occupied zone”, the reporter from FBX was saying. “The 15-mile hike to the outskirts of the village can only be described as a descent into hell, into a modern-day Heart of Darkness. Simple farmers and peaceful herders have been driven from their homes, displaced from their lands by warlords emboldened by a new-found power. Villages have been forced to take shelter in whatever crude dwellings they can find, in the ruins of other villages, or here, in what remains of an old Soviet smelting plant...”

The report was undercut by scenes of shoots being fired, terrorists running amok with guns – Stark guns – pointing them at people’s faces; among them, Tony noticed, was the distinguished face of no other than Wang-Chu himself, badly disfigured but still undeniable.

 _“_ Recent violence”, the reporter continued, “has been attributed to a group of foreign fighters known as The Ten Rings. These men, as you can see, are heavily armed and on a mission – a mission that could prove fatal to any who stand in their way. With no political will or international pressure, there is very little hope for these refugees, who have already been denied shelter by neighborhood countries. It is sad that able-bodied men of all aged are either being forced to join their militia, for the safety of their families, or –”

She did not get to finish the sentence. By then, Tony’s anger had all but built up; he grabbed the first heavy thing near his hand, throwing it across the room and shattering the plasma TV into a million pieces.

His screams of rage were only strangled by the sudden and horrifying realization that the nearest thing to his hand was...Pepper’s present.

 _“_ Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

He breathed in a little easier when he saw that only the glass case had been shattered; the present itself remained intact. Tony couldn't keep himself from letting out a little chuckle, as he saw what it was - his first arc reactor, framed up with the saying ‘proof that Tony Stark has a heart’.

Pepper was right. He did.

And he was going to show her that.

 _We’re ready, sir_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed.

 _“_ Good”, he said, putting his gift back on the table. He gave one last longing look at it, before heading to his station. “Let’s get started.”

 

* * * * *

 

**STARK TOWER, AROUND THAT SAME TIME.**

“I am not entirely sure this is what you would call...a good idea”, Rhodey said, as he and Pepper stepped out of the car.

“Tony says you never think anything is a good idea.”

“And you know Tony well-enough to realize why I say that.”

“Touché.”

She unlocked the building with her ID, being greeted with an eerily empty building. That was worrisome.

“Where are the night guards?” she asked, more to herself than to her companion.

“I’d think by now all your personnel would be, I don’t know, robots or something.”

“I think they tried it once, but it didn’t work out. Keep an eye out for intruders.”

“What are you – Ms. Potts! What are you doing?!”

Pepper had taken a seat behind the front desk. He watched, a little concerned, as she fervently typed, one eye on the computer screen and the other on the camera monitors.

“We’re going on Obadiah’s office, but we can’t leave out any traces that we’ve been there”, she explained. “So I’m setting all the cameras of the building on a loop for the next hour. We can be in and out in thirty minutes, tops.”

“I have to be back at the base in twenty! _And_ I left my date back at the party. God, I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

“Oh, please. Just make a cute face at her and she will be fine.”

“I feel like you have been spending too much time with Tony, Ms. Potts. You’ve started to sound like him”, he said, with a grimace that tried to hide his flattered ego. “How do you even know how to do this, anyway?”

“It’s not the first time Tony has asked me to do this kind of thing. He has...had visitors that shouldn’t have been here.”

“What kind of visitors?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I don’t want to know. You’re right. I realized it before I even said it.”

“Come on, let’s go. We can be back in time for you to tell your girlfriend you had a bathroom emergency.”

He was going to tell her Carol was not his girlfriend – not yet, anyway, and after that night probably not ever – but Pepper was already dragging him to the elevators.

To say he left awkward as they went up the higher levels was an understatement; but it was also a bit...funny, even. He and Tony used to do that all the time, either at Stark Tower (much smaller back then), or at Stark Manner. Sneaking about, turning off security cameras so his dad wouldn’t know what he was up to, being in places he knew he shouldn't be, doing things that could get him in trouble...

It was a thrill he missed having.

It wasn’t the only Stark-related experience he missed, either, but he had buried that hatchet into the fields of his adolescence, and it wasn't time to start digging it back up just yet.

Just as they were about to reach the 44th floor, the elevator’s lights started blinking, and it stopped abruptly.

“What was that?” she asked, breathing hard.

“I don’t know. An energy spike, maybe?”

“We have the arc reactor – that’s not a thing that’s supposed to happen.” She was still struggling to breathe.

“Are you okay, Ms. Potts?”

She sunk her nails into his arm, closing her eyes. “I just. I’m not a fan of closed spaces. Especially when they are not moving, and there is a thousand-feet drop under them.”

“It’s alright, it’s okay, it’s – see? It’s moving again.”

It was, in fact. With a clank, the elevator started moving again, soon reaching its desired destination. Pepper was still very pale, but she had straightened up, trying to pretend nothing had happened.

She was a brave woman, he noted. No surprise Tony trusted her so much.

As they passed Tony’s office – which he never used – they noticed the lights were on. “Is he here?" Rhodey asked, in a whisper.

“Probably the lights malfunctioning”, she said, gesturing towards the end of the corridor, to Obadiah’s office. Formerly Howard Stark’s, it was the biggest one in the building, and probably had nothing to do with either man trying to overcompensate for anything.

His desk was at the other end, in front of the glass windows. So many glass windows. It was a surprise so few people threw themselves out of them.

“Okay. Cool. Right. We’re here. What now?" he asked, while she booted Obadiah’s computer. “I mean, how are you – how are we supposed to access Obadiah’s files?”

“I know his passcodes.”

“You know – how?” he groaned, exasperated but also somehow not entirely surprised.

“I've been working here for _years_. I know everybody’s passwords. I know everybody’s secrets. You know why? Because they don’t care. They talk around me and past me and they don’t even blink. For them I’m not an actual, real person, I’m just –”

“The help”, he finished, with a sigh.

“Exactly. So they get sloppy. And I get smart. For example, I know Obadiah has three different passcodes: first, the day he graduated from Princeton–”

She typed it, but the computer flashed a ‘WRONG PASSWORD’ warning.

“–the birthday of his son–”

They looked at each other and laughed, completely unsurprised that the same message flashed again.

“–And this one. 1-0-1-7-3-9-9-5.”

Rhodes squinted. “Wait. I know this one”, he said, picking a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled down the numbers again, but this time in a different order.

1-5-0-3-1-9-9-7.

15/03/1997.

March, 15, 1997.

“The Stark accident”, they both said, in unison.

“You don't think–” Pepper started, but Rhodes cut short.

“No, it was an accident. One of – one of their new ‘green’ cars malfunctioned. It was an accident.”

“Yeah but wasn’t the green-energy car supposed to be their big break? And then it was completely discontinued after the accident.”

“Listen, okay – we don’t have time to think about this. Let’s just – let’s see if it works.”

Much for their dismay, it did.

Like the proverbial open Sesame, Obadiah’s files cascaded into view. Pepper began transferring them to her own personal server, but just then they heard the sound of a door slamming nearby, and then the sound of feet and laughter coming towards them.

“Hide”, she said, hurriedly.

“What? Where? It’s minimalistic furniture and a glass office!”

“Come on!”

Pulling him by the tie, she ducked under the desk, with a finger pressed over her lips. Outside of the office, they heard more laughter, distinctively of a couple this time, neither very sober.

“Where you wanna do it now, babe?” the voice of – she quickly recognized – one of the guards was heard. His company, a beautiful red-head, giggled. Through their reflection in the window, neither of them was wearing more than their birthsuits. “Mr. Stane’s office? That old hag never gave me that raise I asked for. What about Mr. Levinski’s?”

Their voices trailed off as they searched for the next place to bang. Pepper made the mental note to fire him the next morning.

For now, she had worse things to worry about.

The duo waited, in silence, squeezed next to one another under the desk, until they were sure coast was clear. Rhodey was more than eager to stand up when they knew it was safe.

“Pretty sure our, uh, twenty minutes are running out, Ms. Potts”, he said, adjusting himself.

“I know, I know. Lemme just – let me search for hidden fi– oh, bingo.”

Among his protected files, Stane had a recently updated folder. A quick look inside showed several pictures – pictures taken in what looked like a cave, of an enormous monstrosity of metal, a Frankenstein-like formation that was meant to resemble a suit, being guarded by men with machine guns.

“What the hell is that?” Rhodes asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I don’t know”, she lied. She knew – it looked like a much cruder version of the suit she had seen Stark testing days earlier. Like... like a version someone would have put together if they had nothing but scraps, while trapped in a cave with few resources.

Fuck.

The pictures weren’t the only thing in the folder. There was also a video – a short one, featuring the same armed men from the pictures, and another well-known figure.

“Oh my God”, she said, in a strangled whisper, activating the translating option in the player.

Caught upon their discovery, neither Pepper nor Rhodes noticed when a bright-red torpedo-like thing passed flying in front of their window.

 

* * * * *

 

**TIMBETPAL, HOURS LATER**

The hills nearby were bombarded, showering the surroundings with debris. Men in headwear to cover their faces were shouting, waving their weapons around as they grabbed families out of their homes, kicking and screaming; sometimes through windows, sometimes by shooting down their doors and pulling them out like weeds. Chaos and destruction were all around, as far as the eye could see, and it did not seem to be about to stop.

“Hurry up!” shouted Raza – the man who had pulled Stark’s helmet from the sand. “Put the women in the trucks! Stack the weapons here. Clear the houses!”

Men – good men; innocent men – were lined up against the walls of what once were their houses, their businesses, their places of worship; those who had not been forced to carry weapons themselves, those who struggled too much, those who were meant to be made examples.

A family made its way out of their home, a man and his wife and two children, when they caught the eyes of Raza. “Grab that dog!” he shouted, just as the man was about to get into the truck with his family. Soon the man found himself being pulled by the back of his neck, dragged away from his screaming wife as the man grabbing him was told to put him with the other men.

He looked back to his family, in time to see his son break free from his mother’s grasp and run towards him, calling for his father. “No, no, go back, go back!” he cried out, in tears, when the boy ran into his arms.

“What the hell is this?” Raza asked, pulling father and son away. He shoved the kid off like a raggedy doll before pushing the man into the ground, kicking and stepping on his chest. “Shoot this dog! You are all so incompetent.”

The man was forced on his knees, tears streaming down his face as he tried not to listen to the screams of his children. “Don’t look”, the man pointing the gun at his shouted, drowning the crying of his boy; his finger trembled over the trigger, his conscience trying to get the best of him. “Keep your head down. Keep –”

He stopped. Looking over his shoulder, he and the people around sought the source of the piercing sound that had suddenly broken through the air. There was something – something incredibly fast – coming towards them.

Was that a bird? A plane? A missile? No. It was –

A man? In a super-suit of armor?

It landed in front of them, breaking a hole in the ground. A shiny, red-and-gold armor, with a glowing light on its chest, like something they had never dreamt of seeing it before.

Except some of them had. A more rudimentary version of it, surely, but the memory had left a lasting effect.

Their confusion only lasted long enough for them to either run – those who knew better – or to turn their guns at him, firing at will. The bullets bounced off of the metal as though they were throwing paper balls at him; but his response...hurt considerably more.

With one hand, he sucker-punched a man so hard it sent him flying through the air, until he crash-landed on the roof of a nearby building. His other hand shot a repulsive beam that did the same – though it hit two men at the same time, and they flew through a wall instead.

Aiming at the armed men, the super-suit took them out one by one. Some were thrown against cars, or ricocheted over the ruins of their own making. Some fell over the piles of weaponry, which he took the time to blow up as well. Some were a little more cowardly.

They had hounded themselves behind the women and children, pointing their guns at them and screaming things his automatic translator barely understood. He didn’t need to know what they were saying, however; all he needed was a couple of seconds to calculate their distance, positioning and the best strategy of attack. The mini-rockets on his shoulder did the rest.

Yinsen’s spiritual guide was right. That thing could do well with some shoulder rockets.

There was only one man left. He had not been fast enough to run, only enough to hide behind one of the fallen pillars. The mechanic sound of the gears in the suit moving as the suit approached his hidden spot sounded much like what he imagined the coming of death to be like; something the man had imagined many times, but never quite like this.

He held on tightly to his weapon as he found himself being lifted off the floor by a strong hand, ‘til he was eye-to-eye with the helmet.

“Where is your leader?” Stark demanded to know, tightening his grip around the man’s neck.

The translator could barely discern what the man was saying, but he understood. Deep down, he understood. “Please don’t kill – please – please –”

His headwear slipped off, revealing the full sight of him. Not a man so much as a child; not much older than the boy who had once again ran to his father’s arms close by.

Probably one of the many forced to join an army they didn’t want to serve, scared for his family and himself. Tony let go of him.

“Where is the man that did this to you?” he repeated, towards the boy and the people from the village.

Hands, unanimously, pointed towards the nearby building.

His fist broke through the wall just as Raza finished dialing the number of – who? His superior? It didn’t matter. Tony pulled him out, dragging him through the streets much as he had done with those same men minutes earlier. Before he took off, Tony left him before the men and the women he had held at gunpoint, with a clear message – “he’s all yours”.

Flying by the desert, Tony scanned the surroundings. If the Ten Rings had somehow managed to move their entire operation there, he was hoping it meant his cave wasn’t too far away. The problem was that he couldn't find a single trace of a giant spaceship anywhere on his radar.

All he did find were the hiding places of his Jericho missiles. Those were probably easier to prove the existence.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., any human signs down there?” he asked, searching for heat signatures. It seemed the place was barren. Had they run off already? He was hoping for a challenge.

To answer that, he was met with the whizzing sound on his right ear, just before projectile took him out of the sky.

He crashed, hard, taking half a block along with him. The blaring noise of the system pinpointing and regulating any failures almost drove him deaf for a second, but that wasn’t enough to stop him.

His left arm was pulling a little, but he got up, more annoyed than damaged. “You guys are ruining my paint job”, he complained.

The answer from the tank rolling towards him was another missile, but he dodged it, letting it crash on the nearest mountain. _He_ didn’t miss his shot, though.

The tank blew up in a cloud of fire and smoke, matched by the explosion of the Jericho missiles – one by one, until he was sure there was nothing left. When the smoke cleared, Stark's suit was the only thing left standing.

But that was just the first part of the problem.

 

* * * * *

 

**EDWARDS AIR FORCE BASE, CALIFORNIA, AROUND THAT SAME TIME.**

Radars, GPS, sonars – they all seemed to have gone crazy. Or at least as crazy as the men and women running around trying to make sense of them. Surely there was a mistake; was that something moving? That fast? In that place? What the hell?

“Was that us? Do we have clearance for that?” asked the head of the base, Major Jacobs, double-checking the red dot that crossed their map at a surprising speed.

“No sir, they were using human shields, we never got the green light!” answered his subordinate, nervously.

Phones were ringing all over the place. The monitors showed a wave of destruction – a strike force? Some paramilitary agency making a move? The Air Force denied involvement, as did the Army and the Navy. The CIA wanted answers; Super-Intendent Langley from the Pentagon was shouting so loud half of the base could hear him all the way from DC. Their best equipment couldn't even get eyes on the target. Cross-referencing IDs with known database came up empty. Whatever that was, it wasn’t anything they had seen before.

Rhodes had just arrived at the base – still reeling from what he'd learned on his last trip to New York – when the base was thrown into chaos. He barely had time to catch up on what was going on before someone shoved him with the rest of the think-tanks.

“Any high altitude surveillance in the region?” Jim asked, putting his earpiece on.

“We got an AWAC and a Global Hawk in the area”, said one of men at his side, Jenkins.

“And this thing just, what, appeared out of nowhere? How is that possible?”

“We got a minimal radar cross-section, sir”, explained another one, Friedkin, turning from his monitor to him.

“Is it stealth?”

“No, sir, it’s...just tiny. We think it’s an unmanned aerial vehicle.”

Major Jacobs, who was an old...friend and the man who’d called him to the bridge, seemed less optimistic. “What the hell are we dealing with here, Rhodey?”

Rhodes clenched his jaw. He didn't know – but considering the things he had seen the night before, the location of the target and the general weirdness that followed any and all interactions he had with Tony Stark & co., he had a pretty good guess.

“Clear a hole. Let me make a call.”

The phone rang. Once, twice, three times.

 _Come on, asshole. Pick it up_ , he thought to himself, grinding his teeth, as he watched the red dot flying through his screen.

Aforementioned red dot was all but shocked when he heard his ringtone come up inside the suit. He’d almost forgotten he had a call re-router installed. What? The suit had a lot of functions!

Including a peep holder, which... had come in handy given it was a several-hour-long flight between NYC and where the hell he was. Hopefully the smell wouldn't stick around too long.

“Hello.”

On the other line, he could hear the caller sigh in relief. “Tony?”

“Who’s this?” he asked, smirking to himself.

“It’s Rhodes. You know it’s Rhodes.”

“Oh, so _now_ I’m worth getting a call, huh? What do you need me for, Mr. I’m-not-ghosting-you?”

“I’m – what the hell is that noise? Are you inside a rollercoaster?”

“Close. I’m driving with the top down. You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t, you always wanted to me drive with the top up.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I didn’t want the cops to catch us with my head in your –”

“You know what? This is not the point right now”, Rhodes said, covering his phone with his hands. “I need your help.”

“Oh, _do you_ , now? How convenient.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Speaking of convenient, we just got a weapons depot blown up a few clicks from where you were being held captive.”

“You had the location of their weapons depot but couldn’t find me in three months? I’m offended.”

“That is not the _point_. Did you have anything to do with it?”

“No, but it sounds like, uhh, it sounds like someone did your job for you there, bud.”

Rhodey squinted. “Why do you sound out of breath, Tony?”

“I’m not, I was just jogging around Central Park.”

“I thought you were driving.”

“Right. Uh, right. I was driving to get to Central Park. Keep up, Rhodey.”

“Are you sure you don't have any loose tech in that area I should know about?”

“Nope!”

“Bogey spotted!” at his side, Jenkins shouted, their satellites zeroing-in on the UFO.

“Eagle 1, come in hot”, Major Jacobs ordered.

“Okay, good, ‘cause I’m staring at one this very moment, and it’s about to be blown to kingdom come.”

Tony knew what he was talking about. Behind him, two jets approached – not exactly subtly. “That’s my exit”, he said, taking a sharp left to thrown them off.

Didn’t really work. The planes followed him easily, almost matching up to his current speed. That was bad. Were those Stark-designed jets?

If so, there was a level of irony to that that he was not ready to deal with.

“Ballroom, this is Eagle 1. I’ve got the bogey in my sights”, Rhodes heard over his earpiece.

“Eagle 1, what is it?”

“I got no idea.”

“You have radio contact?” Jacobs asked.

“Non-responsive, sir.”

“Then you are clear to engage.”

It was a good thing Tony could still hear what they were saying over the phone, so he could bolt before the jets got too close to comfort.

“That bogey just went supersonic!” Eagle 1 shouted.

“I got a lock!” Eagle 2 replied, speeding past his partner. A missile was fired, but stopped dead in its tracks just as it was about to reach Stark; a fatal collision avoided by the Tony’s use of flares when he realized he couldn’t out-maneuver it.

The blowback of the explosion sent Stark spiraling out of control through the clouds, trying to regain a grip of the controls. There were red alerts all around him, and J.A.R.V.I.S. was about to lose its mind.

“Not now, J-Man!”, he screamed, when the fighters started shooting at him. “Deploy flaps!”

He was hooked back, disappearing from their sight as Tony plunged out of their radar scans. He could hear the faint confirmation of it at Rhodey’s end of the line.

“That thing just jumped off the scanner, sir”, Friedkin said, sweating nervously. “Sat visual has been lost.”

“There’s no way that’s an UAV”, Eagle 2 said over the comms, as they searched the sky for a sign of the enemies.

“What is it, then?” Jacobs asked.

“I can’t see anything.”

“Whatever it was”, Eagle 1 chimed in. “It just bought the farm. I think the bogey’s been handled, sir.”

Rhodey chewed down his lower lip, shaking his head. Nah, he knew better. There was more to it than he could understand, but he knew better.

“Rhodes? Rhodey? Jim, are you still there?” he heard from the phone, now forgotten over the table.

Shit.

“Tony?”

“Yeah. It’s me. It’s me.” He sounded...strained, almost? His voice as heavy and even more out of breath. What the hell was going on with that dude?

“Tony, I’m sorry but –”

“No, listen. Rhodey, it’s me. The thing – the thing you asked. What you were asking about... is me.”

“Tony, this isn’t some game for you to be playing. You don’t send civilian equipment into an active war zone! We’ve talked about this!”

“It’s not a piece of equipment!” he shouted. “I’m _in it_! It’s a suit. It’s me!”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The suit from the night before. From the pictures.

Not exactly the same by the looks of it, but close.

He knew these two were connected somehow.

That was just the worst way possible.

“Rhodey, you got anything for me?” Jacobs asked – no, almost pleaded. James looked at him for a moment, the phone still glued to his ear. There was a choice to make there – the same choice he had been offered years before when he first joined the ranks. Would the answer change?

He wouldn’t know. This time, the option was taken from him right before it rolled out of his tongue.

“On your belly!” Eagle 2 said to Eagle 1. “It looks like – it looks like a man! Shake him off! Roll! Roll!”

Tony tried to hold on to the underside of the jet, but his grip on it came loose the faster it began to spin. He let go before his suit could fully stabilize – before the repulsors could come online again – and it proved to be at the worst moment. When he was shot back, it was right through the left wing of Eagle 2, ripping it clean off.

“Oh no”, Tony and Rhodey said, in unison, as Eagle 2’s pilot screamed ‘I’m hit!’, his craft dipping down at full speed.

The pilot managed to punch out before the rest of the jet caught into flames and blew up, but that wasn’t slowing down his fall any less.

“Eagle 1, do you see a parachute?” Major Jacobs asked, sinking his nails on the table.

“Negative, no chute!” came the answer.

The rest of the bridge had to hear, with bated breath, as Eagle 2 struggled with his jammed parachute. Jenkins pulled out his earphones and closed his eyes. There was nothing but mountains beneath that flying zone. Even so – at that speed, not even a dune could help him now.

“S-sir, I’ve got a visual on the bogey”, Eagle 1 reported.

“Re-engage. If you get a clear shot, take it”, Jacobs commanded.

“But sir –”

“ _Take it_.”

“Parnell, we don't even know what we’re shooting at. This could be way over our heads. We don’t know what that thing is or what it can do. Call off the raptors”, James advised.

“That _thing_ just took out an F-22 inside a legal no-fly zone!” Jacobs snarled, without taking his eyes off the map. “I don’t care if it starts a war, Rhodey, I want it down! Eagle 1, if you have a clear shot, take it!”

Eagle 1 continued to follow Stark's trajectory, now that most of the suit’s controls had fully gone back to life. J.A.R.V.I.S., too, though he was definitely not very happy about the whole thing.

 _You’ve been re-engaged. Execute evasive maneuver_ , the AI suggested.

“No. No, not yet. Keep going”, Tony instructed. He made another sharp turn and dove, pushing his own boosters to the limit. The descending chair was not far from his grasp.

Just a little more.

Just –

He grabbed a hold of it, shoving his fist through the jammed compartment and releasing the parachute. The chute was released successfully, and it filled the sky long enough to cloud the vision of Eagle 1, allowing for a quick scape.

In the base, Major Jacobs breathed a sigh of relief as men and women around them cheered. Rhodey’s grip on the phone became just a little tighter.

“You crazy son of a bitch”, he whispered, and not even he was entirely sure who he was referring to.

“You’re welcome”, Tony chirped on the other end.

“You owe me a new plane, you know that, right?”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, well, technically _he_ hit _me_ , so... Are you gonna come by and see what I'm working on now?”

“No, no, no, no, no. I've seen enough. I've been involved in your shit enough.” Tony didn’t know what he meant by that, but nowadays he hardly ever knew what Rhodey meant anyway. “And what the hell am I supposed to tell the press?”

“Training exercise gone awry. Isn’t that the usual go-to response?”

“It’s not _that_ simple.”

“ _Isn't it_ , though?” Tony asked, before communications went off, and any sign of the ‘bogey’ disappeared from their radars.

 

* * * * *

 

Turned out...yeah, it was.

“An unfortunate training exercise involving an F-22 Raptor occurred yesterday”, Rhodey said, in the official press release. He looked very formal on TV; his suit was all straightened up and he even wore that funky little headpiece that Tony had always made fun of him for. “I am pleased to report that the pilot was not injured. As for the unexpected turn of events on the ground in Timbetpal, it is still unclear who or what intervened, but I can assure you that the United States government was not involved in any way, shape or form.”]

“That’s a load of BS right there,” Tony said, with a laugh, turning off the TV. Well, what was left of the TV anyway. Actually, now that he looked around, he needed to get a lot of shit around there fixed; the window was still broken, and so were half the tables and his usual tinkering toys. It was actually a good thing that the window had not been repaired yet, because then he would have had to break through it again when he came back in, and that just sounded like a wasted effort.

It wasn’t like he could just go in through the front door, right? That would be awkward.

Extremely funny, but awkward.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” came Pepper’s voice from the stairs. She came down, clutching her laptop, looking as though she had swallow an entire lemon in one go. Tony was sitting on the floor of his workshop, with several pieces of his armor scattered around him as he tried to improve some of the broken components of the suit. “Whatever that was – in the news. That was you.”

“Was it the flying suit that gave it away?”

She sighed, exasperated. “This is not a joke, Tony.”

“ _Relax_. Everything is fine.”

“Everything is –” she inhaled deeply, counting down to three internally. “Everything is _not_ fine, Tony. You committed several crimes, you almost killed a pilot –”

“Hey! He was fine. _And_ I saved an entire village.”

“Almost killing yourself in the process! God, is that – are those _bullet holes_?”

He moved the chest of the armor behind him, trying to hide the damaged paint job. “It’s bulletproof, actually, so nothing to worry about.”

“And when it _isn’t_? When they find its weak spot?”

“There is no–”

“There is _always_ a weak spot", she cut short, before he could open big mouth, ready to stomp away in her very expensive pair of shows that were clearly not made for stomping. “And I don't want to be here when they find your body inside a tuna can floating in the Pacific because you don’t know how to listen to people!”

“Why is it that you have a problem with this _now_?" he asked, angrily throwing his wrench aside. Tony stood up, kicking the arms of his armor out of the way. “How come you stood by me all this time when I was literally selling weapons, but wants to walk away now, when I’m doing the right thing?”

“The right thing?” she laughed, sarcastically, turning back. “To whom?”

“To the _world_! I’m trying to change the world! To make it a better place! To make up for my mistakes, for my father’s –”

“Oh, _right_. Is this you _finally_ going through some five-stages-of-grief kind of thing?”

“This is not about –”

“Isn’t it, though? Are you sure this isn’t about you trying to cram in two weeks the emotional development you haven’t had in ten years? Possibly ever?”

Tony flinched. “That’s – that’s cruel. Even for your standards. I thought...I thought you understood what I was doing. What I was trying to do.”

He pointed to the gift sitting on his table, but Pepper didn’t move her eyes. “I always wanted you to change your ways. To change the company. To... better yourself. I was happy that you decided to do it now, even if you saw the light through trauma. But I wasn’t – I wasn’t expecting this! I expected fundraisers and – and donations and –”

It was Stark’s turn to scoff. “That doesn’t matter! Galas and charities and what have you – that’s small stuff! A bandage slapped on a gaping wound! A wound _I_ made! That _I’m_ responsible for! That other stuff – it makes no difference to me now. All that matters to me is finding my weapons and destroying them.”

“Right”, she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “And then what? Is that how your peacekeeping program is going to work out? What is next? Are you going to dress up in a spandex costume so you can harass clowns on the street with a grappling hook?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes! Like I told J.A.R.V.I.S., there is more than one way to keep the peace.”

“But you don’t have a monopoly on it. Not anymore.”

She stepped past him, putting her computer on the table. On the screen, the files she had taken from Obadiah; the clicked on the pictures to bring them into view.

“That is...Mark I. How did you –”

“It was in Obadiah’s files.”

“How did you get your hands on Obadiah’s files?”

“I – it’s complicated.”

“You stole them?”

“Okay...it’s not complicated.”

“Look who is talking about committing crimes!”

“This is not on the same ballpark as an _international crisis_ , Tony!" she groaned. “The point is – if they get their hands on this project, you won’t get to decide if it’s used for good or not.”

“Obbie wouldn’t – he wouldn’t do anything without coming to me first. This is probably a misunderstanding.”

“Tony –”

“I’ve known this man my whole life! He would never –”

She interrupted him by clicking on the next file. It wasn't another picture, but a video – _the_ video. Tony went quiet very quickly.

He recognized himself in there, on his knees, blood all over his torn clothes, looking completely disoriented. Other familiar faces were in there – faces he had burned off with a flamethrower, or buried under rumbles.

Amidst them, a non-scarred Wang-Chu stood out.

“How did you –” he began, but she pressed play, and then ‘auto-translate’ – but, even in English, their message wasn’t any more clear to him.

 _You did not tell us that the target you paid us to kill was the great Tony Stark_ , they said. _As you can see, Obadiah Stane, your deception and lies will cost you dearly. The price to kill Tony Stark has just gone up –_

“That’s ridiculous. That’s impossible. Why would he – how could he –”

“Because he wanted you out”, she said, and her expression softened.

“Out of what? That man was like a father to me!”

Pepper shook her head. “Tony – he wasn’t a father to his own son. All he did, your whole life, was manipulate you. He never – he never challenged you. He never expected you to grow. He knew that if you did, it would mean you’d be stepping on his toes, getting on his way.”

“Getting on his way? That’s stupid! That’s ridiculous!”

She bit down her tongue. Part of her wanted to tell him about the password thing, but that would be too low a blow – at least at that moment. Despite what he was probably thinking, she didn’t want to hurt him. The problem was... she also couldn’t keep him in the dark anymore.

Tentatively, she reached out for him, resting her hands on his shoulders. Tony was looking down, shaking, his hands clenched into fists. By the way his lip was shaking, Pepper knew he wanted to scream – cry – break something.

She also knew he wouldn't. Not now. Not in front of her.

“Why would he do this?” he asked, swallowing hard. “What for?”

“Because he wants the company for himself. It was his until you came back in, and now he’s had to share the spotlight with you, putting up with your decisions. It's not an easy blow for a man with an ego like Obadiah’s.”

“Joke’s on him, isn't it? It just made everything worse”, Tony said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Pepper's expression remained impassive. “At least I know that – what? What else did you find?”

“A contingency plan. In case your decision was approved.” She returned to the computer, opening a new set of files. There were emails – sent to the other board members, some suggesting them to start the injunction process, some ‘strongly advising’ them against following Tony’s plan; alongside them, receipts and detailing of Stark Industries’ deals. “Obadiah signed a contract with what appears to be a subsidiary of A.I.M. a day before the board meeting, which would force the company into fulfilling the contract for the lasting period. I believe – I think they are selling to A.I.M. for a high price, so A.I.M. can repass to others for even higher. With less of the product in the market, the search for it would increase, and so would the profits.”

He covered his face with his hands, throwing his head back. “So what? I just made it worse?!”

“I’m not saying that.”

“But you’re not _not_ saying that. Fuck. I need to fix this.”

“You keep saying that –”

“And I will do it. Listen, Pepper, this is what I’m here for. This–” he pointed to the scattered pieces of armor. “This is what I’m meant to do. There has to be a reason why I was given this – this brain. These gifts. Not just to calculate math equations or...or make machines. It has to be to _help people_. To stop others from hurting them. Yes, we’ll keep the philanthropy work – but that’s why I need you. You’re good with that. You’re smart and you’re quick on your feet and you know when and how to do the right thing. That’s why I trust you. That’s why I’ve always trusted you. But I have this mission now. And I’m not backing away from it.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, with no sound but the breeze coming through the broken window whistling past them, neither willing to break the gaze. It wasn’t so much a confrontation as it was a conversation without words; both knew, both _understood_ , what was going through the other's mind. It wasn't easy for Pepper to accept it - she still didn't understand how this whole skin-tight-mecha-suit thing worked, but she had heard the news reports about the ‘training accident’ to know Tony could one day not come back whole, or at all – but she knew it was pointless to argue.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked, folding her arms.

“I need you to watch over Stark Industries for me. Tell me if anything is going rogue, especially about Obadiah. Prepare the ground for our comeback. I think it’s time we stage our own coup”, he sat down again, whistling for Dum-E to bring his toolkit. “Where is he, anyway?”

“He took a plane this morning. I’m not exactly sure to where.”

“We need to find out.”

And find out they would – though perhaps not in the best way possible.

 

* * * * *

 

**SOMEWHERE IN ASIA, EARLIER THAT DAY.**

Those who had survived the armor attack had been quick to regroup, as farther away from their original campsite as possible. By superior orders - superior even to Wang-Chu himself - they were not allowed to return to the Makluan site, to avoid drawing back attention from...whoever had attacked them.

But Wang-Chu was not necessarily worried about that defeat, regardless of how humiliating it was. What is losing a small fight when they could win a much bigger war? And with what he soon expected to have in hands, that would be easy. There were other men to replace the ones he lost, and weapons...weapons were easy to find. Sure, _Stark_ weapons were soon to be getting harder, but the investment he believed his American ‘colleagues’ were about to make was sure to guarantee a bountiful harvest.

That was why he welcomed the black, armored cars arriving at his hide-out with a smile on his face. The man in the suit – a normal suit, very professional as he always was – wasn’t so keen on smiling, however.

“Welcome”, Wang-Chu said, and the device wrapped around Obadiah Stane’s ear was quick to translate. Stane took a step forward, analyzing him up and down; he seemed particularly interest on the scarring on his face. “Compliments of Tony Stark, as you can see.”

“If you had killed him when you were supposed to, you'd still have the other half of your face”, he sneered.

“You paid us trinkets to kill a prince. You could not expect us not to ask for the proper price.”

“And then you went and gave him the tolls to build his own escape route. Not what would I call a smart move. Now, you got the weapon or what?”

Wang-Chu raised his chin high, matching to Obadiah’s height. “Yes. Come and see. But leave the guards outside.”

Obadiah raised his hand and made a gesture for his men – something that could be interpreted as an order to stand down.

But it wasn’t quite it.

While the two armed forces stood outside, each staring at each other with the finger on the trigger, the two men walked into the main tent by themselves. Wang-Chu’s sleeping quarters were poorly lit by candles here and there, casting more in the shadows than into the light. The Ten Rings flag in the back was still very visible, however, as was the monumental skeleton of Tony Stark’s first suit.

“His escape bore us unexpected fruit”, Wang-Chu said, standing next to the armor.

“So this is how he did it, huh?” Obadiah scoffed, crossing his arms.

“This is only a first, crude effort. Stark has perfect his designs. He has made a masterpiece of death.”

“Yeah, yeah, I saw the news on the way here. The kid was never exactly discreet.”

“Yes, but a man with a dozen of these could rule all of Asia, even beyond. And you – you dream of Stark’s throne. What is it that you people say? The enemy of my enemy?”

He sat down on the bed, next to the armor. Stane had not taken his eyes off of it; he traced the rudimentary work, drawing circles on the dusty surface. His fingers danced around the chest cavity – a perfect circle, similar to the one he’d seen on Stark’s own chest.

“If we are still in business”, Wang-Chu continued. He stirred himself a drink. It looked like someone had just pissed coke on a plastic cup. “I will give you these designs we found on the cave, and the armor itself. As a gift. We have tried to make it work, but...something is missing. We can’t find a strong enough energy source. But I’m sure you could, so, as a show of good faith, I hope you fix the problem, and repay me with a gift of iron soldiers.”

He raised his cup to Stane, almost as an offering. Obadiah leaned in, with a smile on his face – but not the kind of smile Wang-Chu was expecting to see. In his hand, he had a little sonic device, a ‘boomer’ he’d called it; the military had rejected his prototype, but then again, the military had a very closed mind. How could they not see the utility of a sonic-based neuro-disrupter?

Their loss.

The pressing of a button and the little device went from baby-blue to red. His earpieces, easily disguised as a translator, deafened him to the sound, but Wang-Chu wasn’t so lucky. His muscles quickly stiffened and his face turned purple, and he found himself trapped on his own body.

“This is not the only gift you shall receive”, Stane said, with a smirk. “See? Technology. It’s always been your Achilles heel in these parts of the world. Don’t worry, it will only last 15 minutes – but that’s the least of your problems.”

He took the cup off of Wang-Chu’s hand, dropping it on the floor as he walked out, leaving the man to contemplate what was to come next. Outside, Obadiah’s men had subdued all of the Ten Rings’ goons, holding them at gunpoint.

“Crate up the armor and the rest of it”, Obadiah said, walking to the car. “And finish this up, we got a long way back.”

He closed the door, muffling the sound of gunshots echoing through the desert, phone already at hand. “We have a slight change of plans”, he said, to the woman on the other end of the line. “For the better, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. In the meantime, round up your best engineers and get area 73 ready, I want a prototype ASAP.”

 

* * * * *

 

The plan they had come up with was simple: Pepper was going to gather the board, show them the evidence, vote Obadiah out of the company, and then Pepper would go to the cops and get him arrested for conspiracy to attempted murder and possibly fraud. Not exactly a tight plan, but Tony was sure they could get Stane to at least try to flee the country. That would work out for them.

Of course, considering all the buzz around the company the last couple of months, the board could try to get it to go away quietly. Either case, Tony and Pepper were sure that Obadiah’s grasp on Stark Industries would not last the night.

She finished calling the members of the board for an urgent, secret meeting, while he finalized the improvements on the suit. “I’m going to get rid of those weapons, for good”, he had told her, before the elevator doors closed.

Was that a good thing? Pepper wasn't entirely sure. But as long as everything went according to plan, they would be fine.

Problem was, when did anything ever go according to plan?

“Ms. Potts”, greeted the voice, even before the doors of the elevator had opened. She left out a startled gasp, surprised to see the figure of that agent – what was his name again? Paul? Finn? – waiting for her outside of Tony’s office.

“Hi there! Agent, uh...”

“Coulson”, he finished, with the kind of smile that told her he was used to people not bothering to remember his name. “Mr. Stark said I could stop by. Is he available? I would like to have a few words with him.”

She froze, her hand holding the elevator door open. If she let him in, there was a risk of him walking in on Tony doing...whatever Tony was doing with that suit. She also had a feeling she wouldn't be able to keep dismissing Agent Coulson forever. Sooner or later someone would have to start talking.

And, judging by the way Agent Coulson was staring at her, it seemed it would be sooner rather than later.

But that was cool. That was fine. What had Tony said about her being quick on her feet?

“Tell me something, Agent Coulson,” she said, stepping out of the elevator. The doors closed with a _ding!_ behind her. “This agency of yours –”

“The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

“Right, Strategic something or another –”

“You can call it S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 _Why didn’t he tell me that before? Weirdo._ “That’s better. Tell me, does S.H.I.E.L.D. have any jurisdiction around these parts? To, say, make arrests and that kind of thing?”

He hesitated. “Uh, yes, we do. Is Mr. Stark involved in anything that would require that kind of assistance?”

“Oh, no, Tony is – hmm, Tony is fine. Come with me, I’ll explain everything before the board meeting starts.”

“Here?” he asked, pointing to Tony’s office.

Pepper shuddered at the memory. “Oh, God, no. Not there. Let’s go to the conference room.”

 

* * * * *

 

**LATER THAT DAY, A.I.M. FACILITY, MAINE**

Dark clouds covered the sky as far as the eye could see, and the whistling wind came cold and hard from the seaside, sending chills up the spine of anyone who had the audacity of standing in its way – like the couple of A.I.M. guards standing guard outside the old warehouse, already freezing up inside their ridiculously bright-yellow uniforms, each with a cigarette stuck between their chattering teeth.

Meteorology had predicted rain for the day, which was welcome by most; a break from the summer drought. Of course, ‘most’ didn't have to stand outside all day, holding guns they wouldn’t use while watching over a facility that barely anybody bothered to visit.

Every time they received one of these wacky orders, Mike – the one on the left – cursed himself for passing that opportunity to work at Roxxon Corporation. He doubted that Los Angeles was having that kind of weather.

The only good thing was that their shift was about to end. Well, at least that was what their superior had told him. Once the delivery truck came and went – and they could already see the headlights approaching – they could close up for the day. “Twenty minutes, tops”, the old man had said.

That was tree hours ago.

“Sorry for the delay, lads”, the truck driver said, in a thick British accent, once he got the clearance in the main gate. “There was a hold up. Something about another facility in trouble.”

“Whatever, just get on with it”, hurried Rob, the other guard, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

The loading doors were lifted and the truck went through. Just as it was finishing closing down, Mike flicked the butt of his cigarette at it; much to his surprise, the door exploded, shoving them back half a dozen feet away.

“Holy shit! Did I do that?” he screamed, over the deafening sound of his ears buzzing.

It wasn’t him, however – it was the blast that came from the powered suit that flew through the open hole, ready to wreak havoc on anything standing on its way.

And wreak havoc it did. For the last couple of hours, Tony – with J.A.R.V.I.S. as his tracker and GPS – had located every single A.I.M.-disguised facility that had served as a dock for Stark weaponry. Some of them were only associated with A.I.M. through ghost companies, but their bosses weren’t smart enough to actually instruct their subordinates to change their goddamn uniforms, so it wasn’t exactly hard to spot them.

And this, now, was the last one he had access to. Most of the weapons there were older versions, but the truck was carrying at least one Jericho missile, a quick x-ray view confirmed. He made sure the driver had jumped out before he blew it up, taking all the stacks nearby with it.

“Freeze! Don’t move!” shouted the guards, coming out of the woodwork. They all had their guns pointing at him, in shaky hands that probably never had to use a real gun before. Another clog operating in a machine that neither understood nor valued them.

“Okay fellas, you have two options here”, he said, hovering over them. “You can either shoot me, even though it’s not gonna do any good, under the risk of a bullet ricocheting and hitting one of you instead, or...you can run while I blow this stuff up. Your colleagues on the _other_ warehouses choose the first option, but you do you.”

The men didn’t move for a moment. Some looked at each other, others raised their guns a little higher. None of them did anything, weighting in their options.

And their options leaned more towards not getting shot in the head by accident, so they dropped their weapons and made a run for it.

“See, what did I tell you, J-Man? Works every time”, he chuckled, before going to town on their shipments. Tony tried to aim (hah, ironic) towards the ones with a Stark Industries brand, but if _other_ weapons of mass destruction happened to _also_ go up in flames while he was doing it...

Now, that was just a (un?)fortunate side-effect.

Setting his thrusters to max, he shot up throw the ceiling, in time for the rest of the facility to collapse on itself. “Now that’s what I call a blowout!” he laughed, flying off back to New York.

 

* * * * *

 

“Pepper?” Tony called, after the phone ringed for what felt like an eternity and half. “So, how was it?”

“The board agreed”, she answered, but he could barely hear her. He couldn't tell if it was due to the speed of him flying or something on her end. “They sided with you, unanimously. I’m getting a warrant for Obadiah now.”

“Nice. Where are you?”

“It’s...classified.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Almost as a reflex, he tried tracking down the source of her call, but not even J.A.R.V.I.S. could pinpoint it.

Pepper sucked in air through her teeth. “I’m...at S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Why would you _possibly_ be at S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Agent Coulson was waiting for me after I spoke to you. I told him the whole thing, he’s been helping me set this up. We’re going after Obadiah after this.”

Shit. Coulson. Weren't they supposed to have a meeting or something? He had completely forgotten about it.

To be fair, Coulson wasn’t exactly an easy figure to remember, either, so it wasn’t entirely his fault.

“Keep me informed,” he said, speeding past New York Harbor.

Pepper had no idea that what they were looking for was much closer than what they imagined.

The first thing Tony noticed once he flew back inside his apartment was the sound of the television upstairs. _Had Rhodey decided to stop by and visit?_ he thought, almost eagerly. The second thing he noticed was the newscast; _mysterious ‘Iron Man’ figure destroys A.I.M. facilities, could it have a connection to the events of Timbetpal?_

Mysterious Iron Man figure.

Not entirely accurate, but he liked the sound of that.

What he didn’t like was the person waiting for him on his couch.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Hello, Tony”, Stane said, standing up. Tony backed away into the staircase, but Obadiah pressed the button of the sonic boomer in his hand – Tony had always hated that thing – and he stopped, dead on his tracks.

His body stiffened, frozen in place. He could only watch as Obadiah approached him, a smile that could only described as diabolical dancing on his lips.

“Don’t forget to breathe”, he said. Like a puppet, Obadiah grabbed him by the neck and dropped him on the floor, tearing his shirt in half. Tony struggled against the unwanted touch, but Obadiah had him pinned down with his knee on his chest while he searched for something inside his briefcase.

Whatever it was, Tony didn’t want to see it, but he couldn't close his eyes, either.

“You know”, Stane continued. He had a little device in his hands. It looked like... one of those claw-thingies one would use to pick toys on an amusement park. Oh no. “When I ordered the hit on you, part of me was hesitant. What if I was killing the golden goose? But, you see, things always work out for the best. And you –”

He placed the grappling hook against Tony’s chest, over the arc reactor. It clicked, spun, unscrewed and pulled it out in one painful go.

“–you still had one last golden egg to give.” He disconnected the cables, taking the opportunity to lean closer to Tony’s face, so they could be eye-to-eye. “Do you really think just because you have an idea, it _belongs_ to you? Your father helped to win World War II – can you imagine what kind of world would it be today if he was as selfish as you? I know some people who do.”

He tapped Tony’s face gently, his perfectly manicured nails scratching against his former protégée’s chin. Stane seemed to be taking an immense pleasure in seeing Tony struggling to keep his lungs working.

“This here”, he said, pulling back, as he stared at the arc reactor like Yorick’s skull. “This will be your Ninth Symphony. Your masterpiece. Your legacy. A new generation of weapons with an unstoppable force at their heart, that will help stir the future of the world into the right hands. _Our_ hands. Too bad you’re not gonna be around to see it.”

He stepped over Tony's body on his way out, making sure to turn off the TV. Wouldn’t want people to think there was something going on there, now, would he?

“By the way,” he said, before taking the elevator. “I liked what you did with your new model. Wish you could have seen my prototype. I mean, it’s not as...flamboyant as yours, but I bet Ms. Potts is gonna like it.”

Pepper. Pepper. Pepper.

Pepper, who was about to go on a chase after Obadiah, not knowing what was waiting for her.

Pepper.

He needed to help Pepper.

Even with every inch of his body frozen, the message blaring in his ears was still loud and clear. He needed to do something. Even if it was the last thing he would do – and, at each passing second, it felt more and more like it would be.

Gathering every ounce of strength he had within him, Tony forced himself to move, even if it meant bumping his way down the stairs or slithering through the floor, with a thousand hurdles standing in his way. There was still hope – a flimsy, distant, apathetic hope – that he could help.

With his body slowly regaining its movements also came the knowledge of the pain, as the shattered glass stuck to his arms and chest, leaving a trail of blood on his way to the table. Under his breathe, he was cursing himself for not putting it closer to the door.

“J...J... J.A.R.V.I.S.”, he called out, pushing pieces of equipment out of the way.

 _Yes, sir?_ answered the A.I. _Everything alright?_

 _“_ Call...Pepper...”

“I’m sorry, sir, Ms. Potts’ phone seems to be out of range or turned off. Is it an emergency? Would you like me to call Mr. Rhodes? He’s a ten-minute drive away.”

Tony didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Whatever voice he had left had died in the back of his throat as he forced himself to climb on his table, reaching out for the original arc reactor. He almost got it – almost got it –

Then his legs went numb again, and he found himself sliding down to the floor. Defeated.

But not dead just yet.

With a sad beep, Dum-E approached, lowering the arc reactor into his lap. Tony looked up and cracked a sad, weak smile. “Good boy”, he whispered, before blacking out.

 

* * * * *

 

When he opened his eyes again, there was someone hovering over him. _An angel?_ he thought at first. But then for it to be an angel it would require him to go to heaven, and all things considered, that seemed to be most unlikely scenario. Besides, an angel wouldn’t be slapping him as hard as the person was.

He blinked a couple of times so the world would come into focus. His slapper was better than an angel, though. “Rhodey?”

“Oh, thank God”, Jim sighed, cleaning the sweat from his forehead. He sat down next to Tony, unsaddling his chest and letting him sit up.

“How did you – how are you here?” Tony asked, rubbing his face.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. called me. Said it was an emergency.”

“And did you –” he pointed at his chest. Jim shuddered.

“Yeah. Gross. He walked me through it. If you’re gonna have him as your butler, you might as well give the guy a body.”

 _Thank you, sir_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed in.

“Maybe some other time”, Tony groaned, forcing himself to stand up. “Now I have things to do.”

“Woah, woah, woah there buddy. Where are you going? You can barely stand up!” Jim rushed to aid, before Tony’s knees buckled in.

“But I have to – I have to help Pepper. She’s...she’s going after Obadiah, but he’s waiting for her.”

“Damn. Did she tell you what we found?”

“ _You_ found? She didn’t tell me you were with her.”

“It’s a long story. Do you know where he is?”

“No, but I can find him. He took my arc reactor, and I think – I think he has his own version of my super-suit to power with it. She’s not gonna stand a chance.”

“And _you_ will? In your state?”

“I’m the only one who can”, he said, searching through the mess of his workshop until the found the suit trigger. He held it on his hand and pressed it, watching as the pieces unfolded and fit themselves to his body. He enjoyed the look of shock on Rhodey’s face as it all came together, the suit adjusting itself to his arc reactor.

Maybe Obadiah was right. He enjoyed being a little flamboyant.

“That’s...awesome. When are you gonna make me one of those?” Rhodey asked, drawing circles around him. It was definitely different than seeing a little dot of it on a radar, or hearing about it on the radio reports.

“I thought you said you didn’t want any involved on my new project”, Tony sneered, opening the front of the helmet.

“That was before everybody started getting their own versions of it.”

“They aren’t. I’m putting an end to this, now. And Rhodey –”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For saving my life.”

“For the, what, fifth time? But who’s counting.”

“I still appreciate it. More than I could...ever say.”

“How about you just stop dying on me, then?”

“But then how else will I ever get to see you?” Tony winked, before the helmet came down again.

He shot out of the window and into the night sky, leaving Rhodey behind without knowing what to do next. Should he call someone? The police? How was he going to explain all of this to the police before Tony and Obadiah tore half of the city in half?

And if Tony was right and Stane had his own super-suit, he saw no other end to that confrontation.

You know what, though? He was not entirely wrong.

 

* * * * *

 

**AREA 73, SECRET A.I.M. BASE, NEW YORK.**

“Are you sure this is the right place, Ms. Potts?” Agent Coulson asked, when the S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV stopped in front of an old, decrepit warehouse. The entrance was on a poorly-lit side street, but not too far from a busy avenue – easy to access, but also easy to go unnoticed by anyone passing by. It didn't seem to have had any activity recently, judging by the state of its front, but Pepper knew better than to judge hastily.

“It’s what your little thingy here is telling me”, she said, pointing to the device Coulson had instructed her to attach to her cell phone. They had been using it to pinpoint the location of Obadiah’s own device, but it had been all over the place for the last half-hour, until it settled at that location and stayed there.

So either Stane had ditched his cell phone there, or he was waiting for them inside.

“Is this a Stark Industries building, Ms. Potts?” Coulson asked. He and four of his men were accompanying her inside, with their guns in hand.

“No, it’s from Advanced Idea Mechanics. One of their off-the-records labs. It’s only used for projects that can get the company in trouble.”

“And how do you know that, exactly?”

“I worked for them for two years or so. They are not very good at hiding their secrets.”

“Or maybe you’re just good at finding them.”

Pepper blushed, not certain whether she should take it as a compliment or not.

What she knew was that there was a reason why this place remained untouched while all evening they had heard news reports of wreckage and havoc on other A.I.M. facilities. Whatever it was in there, they didn’t want it to be found.

The problem was, how would they get _in_ the facility?

“You wouldn’t happen to know the codes, would you, Ms. Potts?” Phil asked, when they were faced with the locked door.

Pepper grimaced. “They change the codes of every door every thirty-three days.”

“Why thirty-three?”

“I don’t know. They are the nerds, not me.”

Judging by the way he pouted, Pepper could see Phil hadn’t taken the nerd comment very well. “Alright, then. Step back, please.”

“Woah, are you gonna kick the door down?”

The men laughed. One of them passed a little button-shaped device over to Phil. “What is this, an action movie?” he joked, pushing the device into the door and then pressing it.

It blinked green three times before turning red. When it did, the little thing exploded on a brief cloud of smoke, and the door moved to the side.

“Do you guys just carry that stuff around? Is that standard procedure?” she asked, following them inside the building.

“Only when we need to get somewhere...uninvited”, Phil answered, raising his gun.

“So I’m guessing always.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Inside, the warehouse was quiet. Maybe too quiet. Most of the lights were off, except for a handful of bulbs scattered here and there – that told Pepper somebody had to leave in a hurry. There were rows of boxes full of God-knew-what, half-finished projects on the floor and on stuffed work tables and shelves upon shelves of blueprints that made the whole place into a labyrinth.

No sign of who they were looking for, however.

With a gesture, Coulson told his men to scatter, while he and Pepper continued to navigate the maze together. The absolute silence of the place, save for the sound of their own footsteps and the distant whirling of machinery that didn’t even appear to be from that building triggered a flight or fight instinct on her that Pepper didn't even remember she had.

She left out a little gasp when they made a sharp turn and found themselves staring at Mark I, hanging from wires against a wall.

“Is this what you were telling us about, Ms. Potts?” Coulson asked, inspecting the armor.

“Yes. But I didn’t think he would’ve made one so fast.”

“I thought it would be bigger.”

The clanking sound grew closer to where they were, but she still couldn’t see the source of it. There was nothing around there, except for the suit and a bunch of bare wires hanging from the ceiling.

Almost like they were meant to be...hoisting something?

Phil wandered off, veering towards the computer area, where monitors still ran diagnostics on the suit. She stepped closer to the wires, peering into the darkness that waited beyond them.

Much to her horror, the darkness looked right back at her.

Pepper screamed when a pair of glowing eyes appeared in front of her, and a colossal figure moved from the shadows; it was about 7 feet tall, maybe bigger, a giant beast that came charging at her. She ditched off her heels – who the hell tries to run in them anyway? – and took off, while that _thing_ destroyed everything on its path.

Inside the suit, Stane shoved shelves and tables aside, smashing them like pencils while trying to gain control of its motor functions. _How the hell does Tony do it?_ , he asked himself, stomping down until the floor cracked under his weight.

The agents came running, their little guns at ready, but bullets bounced off of the suit as if they were nothing. He shoved them aside, pushing his way towards Pepper, while the poor agents were sent crashing against high-voltage panels or tanks of nitrogen.

He almost managed to reach her, but she slipped out of the door – to small for the suit to fit through – making a run for the car outside the entrance of the building.

“Come on now, Pepper. I just wanna talk!” he screamed, a metallic voice that sent a chill down her spine. She tried to get into the car, but the doors were locked; and there was no little device to blow them up for her, and it wasn’t like she could outrun the monstrosity coming her way.

But, luckily, she wouldn’t have to.

“How’s the arc reactor holding up, J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony asked, already approaching the location pinging in his GPS – his arc reactor had a particular energy signature that was impossible to miss.

_We are at 48%, sir, and going down fast. It was never meant for flights._

_“_ Well, keep on it, see how it works out. Oh, there they are!”

He flew down, just as Stane broke through the entrance of the building, his arm lifted and ready to fire. “Sorry, Ms. Potts, but your services are no longer required”, he said, but before he could pull the trigger and blow the entire car up, Tony ran crashed into him, sending the two of them tumbling down the street.

And the next street. And then three streets after, straight into the oncoming traffic of the avenue. They went through a truck full of frozen food, sending meat flying everywhere. The truck driver, shocked, lost control of the wheel and crashed into the one to the right; and so did every other car coming down the road.

The ones that didn’t crash tried to dodge the fight in the middle of the avenue, but not all of them were so lucky. Stane grabbed a minivan and lifted it above his head, ignoring the screaming of the mother and the children inside. “I love this suit!” he jeered.

“Put them down!” Tony demanded.

“Collateral damage, Tony! It’s finally time you understand what it means!”

“J.A.R.V.I.S., divert power to chest RT”, he commanded, ignoring the protests of his AI that the power had already gone down to half. Stane barely had time to process what he meant before he was hit with a beam of energy that knocked him out of his feet; Tony was there to pick up the minivan before it went face-first onto the ground. “I don’t need you to teach me about collateral damage! Or anything else, for that matter!" he shouted, stepping out of the way before the driver decided to run him over.

Stane came at him again. Jumping over like a gorilla on top of him, he smashed his fist against Tony's chest, a punch that Tony felt right into his gut.

“How dare you! You ungrateful little bastard!” Stane growled, slamming him against the nearby cars. Tony barely had time to recover before he was grabbed again, and slam-dunked into the ground. “For 40 years I’ve been holding up for you Starks! First your father, now you! _I_ built this company! _I_ made it what it is today! And nothing –” every word was punctuated by his foot coming down on Tony’s chest, ‘til he kicked him into an empty bus. “– _nothing_ is gonna stand in my way. Especially not _you_.”

There was no time for Tony to think before Obadiah had launched a rocket straight towards him, blowing the bus up to kingdom come – even less so after all the beat-up. But that, after all, was why Tony had decided to install a co-pilot on the suit.

With Tony almost out of it, J.A.R.V.I.S. took over, somersaulting before they could fall back on Obadiah’s clutch, the suit flying off just out of range.

“Impressive!" Stane laughed, before he himself shot up into the sky. “But you’re not the only one that can do that!”

“Hey! How come he can do that and I couldn’t?” Tony complained, coming back to his senses.

_He did have more resources, sir. What should we do?_

Tony chewed the insides of his cheeks. Obadiah was getting ready to fire again. There were too many civilians around – no point in getting them hurt. What could he do? Where could he go?

Now, hold on. He had an answer to that.

 _“_ J.A.R.V.I.S., remember what I was saying about visiting other planets?” he joked, activating the repulsors. Stane gave chase.

_Sir, we only have 18% of power._

_“_ No Uranus, then. ‘Salright, I’ll settle for Jupiter.”

_15% now, sir._

_“_ Fine, then, Mars! Jeez.”

_12% now, sir._

_“_ Can you just put it on the screen? I can read just fine.”

That was not entirely true. His head was still spinning - between the boomer, almost dying and the beatdown, there was just so much a body could take – and he could barely focus on what was ahead, but he pushed through the pain anyway. Even if there was a high chance of internal bleeding somewhere.

The important thing was that Obadiah was following him, exactly like he expected. Higher and higher. _Just a little more...just a little more..._

“You had a great idea, Tony!” Stane scoffed, grabbing him by the bootstraps and pulling him down, until they were face-to-face once again. “But my suit is more advanced in every way!”

“But you didn’t solve all the bugs yet, did you? Like the icing problem.”

“ _What_ icing problem?”

The answer became clear of Stane’s screen as his entire system went dark. Outside, his suit had frozen up, covered in a thick layer of ice – exactly the problem J.A.R.V.I.S. had warned Tony about.

That was the problem with not beta-testing stuff before launch, right?

Obadiah was plunged downwards, pulled by the weight of his own stupidity. “Not so much for an iron monger now, are we?” Tony mocked, until he was the one falling like a rock. He had ignored the ‘5%’ warning flashing on the left side of his screen.

 _Now running on auxiliary power_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. said, blinking on and off. Shit. Shit. Fuck. What were they supposed to do now?

“Hold on, J-Man, we still need to find a way to stop Obadiah!” Tony cried out, trying to get a hang on the manual controls.

 _I don’t think he is a match for you, sir. Not without energy_.

“Energy...” Tony whispered. “That’s what we need!”

_Sorry, sir?_

_“_ J.A.R.V.I.S., call...call Rhodey for me. See if he is still at Stark Industries.”

The screen of his helmet flickered, glitching as it tried to display a GPS map. _It appears so, sir_ , J.A.R.V.I.S. said, highlighting the little dot indicating where Jim was. Pepper was too far away. Obadiah, already back on his feet, not far enough.

“Tony? Is everything alright?” Rhodey asked, as soon as he picked up the call.

“Not really. Rhodey, can you – can you do me a solid?”

“Sure, anything!”

“I’m almost out of power, so I need you...I need you to go to the basement of Stark Industries. To the arc reactor.”

“What for? Don’t I need clearance for that?”

“Use mine. It’s...1-0-0-6.”

Rhodey bit down his tongue. That was his birthday. “What do you need?”

“Remember that time I tried to build myself a girlfriend? Do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah, you overcharged it, and it blew up.”

“Exactly. Go to the central console. Open up all the circuits. When I give you the go-ahead, I need you to hit the master bypass button and blow up this popsicle stand.”

“Are you _crazy_? That’s gonna fry the circuits of every computer in the building!”

“That’s the plan! Go!”

He screamed. From behind him, by the smashing of cars and the honking as vehicles tried to get away, he could tell Stane had caught wind of him.

Stark Tower rose in the horizon, Howard Stark’s statue standing guard in front of it. Tony swerved past it, using whatever left energy he had to push his suit upwards, and into his own suite.

“What do you think you will find there? Build yourself a new suit?” Obadiah howled. He reached the statue and, in a single swoop, ripped it off of its pedestal, smashing it under his leg. “The Stark legacy dies tonight!”

He climbed up, just as Tony reached his floor – thankful to see that Rhodes was nowhere to be found. Now he just had to stall Stane. Or at least try not to get himself killed.

That seemed a little harder than expected.

It was Stane’s turn to charge at him, pinning him against the opposite wall and destroying everything in their path. With his arms wrapped around him, Obadiah squeezed him, ‘til Tony could feel the bending metal start to crush his arm.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., any weapons available?” he begged.

_Repulsors offline. Missiles offline._

_“_ What about – what about flares?”

From the suit’s joints, half a hundred sparkling bombs blew up, filling the room with smoke and blinding Stane long enough for Tony to escape his clutch.

“Very clever, boy! But you can’t hide forever!”

 _Not forever_ , Tony thought. _Just long enough_.

“Rhodey, please tell me you got good news”, he asked, restarting his comm link.

“I just got here, but I’m doing everything as fast as I can. There is something is – I don’t know, loading? I don’t understand any of this! Are you still in there? What’s going on?” Rhodey screamed. He had ran around the floor, pulling levers, pressing buttons, flipping switches – anything he thought might be important – while cursing himself for not paying attention to his physics classes.

Then again, odds were none of his teachers would know what to do in this situation, either.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy. Just – gimme the go ahead once it’s done!”

Throwing caution to the wind, Tony circled Obadiah, hopping on top of him while he scanned the opposite direction. “Woah there! What is this? Looks important!” he joked, shoving his hand on the connection between the helmet and the chest plate and pulling out as many cables as he could get a hold of.

Stane’s suit went offline, but it didn’t stop him from grabbing hold of Tony’s neck and hammering him to the wall.

Tony rolled off, exhausted. Most of his suit already coming lose. He crawled his way to his work table, or whatever was left of it anyway, while Obadiah paused for his dramatic gloating moment.

“I gotta say, I never had a taste for this sort of thing,” he said, picking up Tony’s helmet. The front side of his suit opened, so Obadiah’s smug face could be the last thing Tony saw before, much like the helmet getting crushed in his hands, he too met his demise. “But I’m enjoying this suit!”

He threw the smashed helmet at Tony’s feet, making his way towards him. At every further step, the floor quaked under the weight of the metal. Tony tried grabbing the first thing he found, but it was nothing but his electronic wench.

Why couldn’t it have been a sonic screwdriver instead?!

“You really outdid yourself this time, Tony. Trying to rid the world of weapons, you gave us the best one!” Stane continued. He raised his fist, as he had done to Pepper before, ready to shoot. “Your daddy would be very proud.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Probably not.”

The rocket was shot, but instead of hitting Tony, it spiraled out of control, blowing up outside the window instead. The second one followed the opposite direction, crashing onto the ceiling.

“...that was anticlimactic.”

“You ripped out my targeting system. Don't worry, I’ll get it right!” he assured, reloading. “Always do.”

Tony threw out his wrench, but Stane didn’t even flinch. _Come on, Rhodey, hurry up_ , Tony asked, closing his eyes. And Rhodey answered.

Downstairs, James counted the seconds until the charger reached 100%. You’d think one of the biggest multi-billion dollar companies in the world would have a faster Wi-Fi! Every second dragged itself for what felt like an hour, until the meter went from red to yellow to blue to finally reaching green.

That was when he pressed the button.

The arc reactor – a gigantic centrifuge-like machine with electricity constantly spinning around inside – left out a growl that shook the entire foundation of the building. It began to spin faster and faster, with sparks flying everywhere; Rhodey ducked under a table, just as it reached maximum capacity, sending out a hyper-charge of energy that ran all the way to the top, consuming every techno-electric piece of technology on its path – including Obadiah’s suit.

The penthouse was suddenly filled with light; bright blue light that blew up bulbs and computers and involved Stane’s armor, seeking to feed off of his reactor’s own source of energy. His screams were muffled by the sound of the charge as it spread out, blackening out everything on a 10-mile radius.

Tony’s own arc reactor was not spared.

When it was all gone and done, there was nothing left but the silence; then, the creaking of machinery as Obadiah’s armor tumbled back on its own weight, it – and its owner – completely fried. Tony sighed, satisfied with he knowledge that whatever happened next, at least the armor projects would die out with them, even if he had to go along with it. Maybe that could be his legacy.

The arc reactor in his chest blinked, and then went off.

 

* * * * *

 

**FOUR DAYS LATER, STARK INDUSTRIES.**

“You have all received the official statement of what occurred at Stark Industries last week”, Pepper said, standing in the podium on front of fifty different faces and about just as many cameras pointing at her direction, each with a microphone or a little notepad taking in every word she was saying. She suddenly felt very aware of every inch of her body. “As you know, it was all part of a robotic prototype malfunction that, Mr. Stark assures, will not happen again. It did cause a severe damage to the arc reactor, as well as to several of the local generators, but we of Stark Industries guarantee you all that we are working on local government to assure energy will be restored and any damaged equipment will be properly repaired or replaced. In regards of the prototype itself–”

“She’s doing very well”, Tony said, while he, Rhodey and Agent Coulson watched from behind the scenes, waiting for their cue to step in. “For her first time, anyway.”

“Problem is not she doing well, is people actually buying it”, Rhodes said, shifting uncomfortably at his side.

“It’s a very tight excuse.”

“Except for the hundreds of people who were driving by and heard Obadiah screaming ‘Death to Tony Stark!’ in the middle of a busy avenue.”

“Maybe not that tight.”

“Here is your alibi”, Coulson said, handing a bunch of cards he pulled from his...was that a manpurse?

“...Okay?”

“You were on your yacht. We have port papers that put you in St. Tropez all weekend, and sworn statements from 50 of your guests. We threw in some skinny dipping paparazzi shots just to make it more authentic.”

“I wanna see those”, Rhodey chuckled, but Tony slapped his hand away when he tried to reach out.

“I was thinking maybe we should say it was just maybe Pepper and me. Alone. On the beach. Rhodes could be there too, but I’d have to ask her first.”

“Hey! Don’t get me involved on this. I already have one too many questions to answer back at the base.”

“Let’s stick to the plan, Mr. Stark’, Coulson insisted. “Just read the cards, word for word.”

Tony checked them out, scanning their content. _Blah blah blah_ , party, _blah blah blah_ everything under control. One thing was missing, though. “There’s nothing about Obadiah here.”

“That’s being handled. By all accounts, Mr. Stane is skiing in Vermont. You know how easy it is to injure oneself there, those skis are fragile.”

“ _How_ is he, by the way?”

“Still in intensive care, in a vegetative state. He has shown no improvement, but we need to give it time.”

“Keep me posted. What about this bodyguard thing, though? That seems a little bit, I don't know, flimsy, don’t you think?”

“This is not my first rodeo, Mr. Stark. I know what I’m doing. Stick to the official statement and soon this will all be behind you.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “That sounds tempting. Is it a promise?”

Coulson sighed. “Not like that, Mr. Stark.”

“Stop being such a tease, then.”

“I think we are about to go in”, Rhodey interrupted. “You ready for this, Tony?”

“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure.”

“How is the – the new thingy holding up?” he tapped on Tony’s chest. The faint light of the new arc reactor was barely visible, but still very much there.

“I’m alive, aren’t I? Had to be hooked to another car battery to build it, but at least I’m alive.”

“Let’s keep it that way”, Jim said, adjusting his tie, before pushing Tony out into the spotlight.

Pepper graciously stepped aside, gesturing for them to come closer. She made sure to remind the audience that there would be no questions – only a brief statement – but judging by how most of them were shifting in their seats, it was clear that that rule would not last for long.

Tony searched among the reporters for faces he recognized. Ms. Everhart was, as usual, right on the first row.

“Wow. Has it even been three months since I was here in front of you all? Less? I figure I’ll stick to the cards this time. Don’t want to cause another furor.”

Laugher from the reporters. Some of them seemed less amused.

He cleaned his throat. “There’s been some speculation that I was somehow involved in the events that occurred on the freeway and here at Stark Tower, but –”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark”, Everhart lost no time in interrupting, her hand raised and all of that. “But you can’t honestly expect us to sit here and believe that that was a bodyguard in a suit? Despite the fact that we have reports of a similar-looking suit flying off from your flat before the incident, not to mention the attacks at A.I.M. bases –”

“I _know_ it may be confusing”, Tony cut out, a little condescendingly. “But I recall it was all _explained_ on the official release, from the stolen tech to the weapons’ connections to terrorist organizations. It is all cleared now. It’s one thing to question the official story, Ms. Everhart, but another entirely to make wild accusations, or even insinuate that I’m some sort of – of vigilante or superhero."

Christine scoffed. “I never said you were a superhero. If anything, you are far from it, Mr. Stark.”

Tony paused. Maybe it was the fact that half of his body had been crushed by a megalomaniac capitalist war-profiteer just days before, or the fact that he had been declared dead for a minute before Pepper instructed the paramedics to charge his arc reactor when they finally managed to reach to the top floor of Stark Tower (a side-note that Pepper had not forgotten to mention at least twice while he was recovering), but he took offence to it.

“You’re right. I’m clearly – I’m clearly not the hero type. The idea itself is just – outlandish and – and fantastic, really, almost.”

“God, he is losing it”, Rhodes muttered, next to Pepper in the background.

“Don’t worry, he can do it”, she muttered back.

Neither of them was too sure of it, however.

“With all the – the characters flaws and the mistakes I’ve made”, Tony continued, his jaw clenched tightly. “That you, Ms. Everhart, are always so eager to report on, obviously I’m not the hero type. Who can even possibly question that, right?”

“Tony”, Pepper called, pointing at the cards in his hands. “Just read.”

He nodded. _Breathe, Tony. It’s gonna be alright_.

“Truth is...” he said, looking down at his talking points. A long-winded list of lies for him to feed to the public. _More_ lies. _More_ things to hide. _More_ things to be ashamed of. No, that was enough of them; for today. Ever. “The truth is, I _am_. I am Iron Man.”

He smirked. The crowd went nuts. In the back, Pepper and Rhodey facepalmed.

God, that was gonna be a long day.

 

* * * * *

 

“That was stupid”, Pepper said, when the elevator doors closed – the first chance she’d had to get him alone for more than two minutes. They practically had to physically fight away every reporter in the building so they could get away, and even still Rhodey had to stay downstairs to make sure none of them would try to, who knew, climb through a window or sneak through a backdoor.

“That was brilliant, you mean”, he corrected, still holding on to that cynical smile that had long stopped being amusing.

“No, I meant stupid. Really, really, really stupid.  How are you going to explain this to people, now? How are we going to make this go away?”

“We are not. That’s the point. No more secrets, Pepper. We’re going through with this in the open, now.”

“Right. You just dug yourself this hole, and I have no idea how you’re going to climb out of it now.”

“Well, you know, maybe if I had the support of a brilliantly smart and thoughtful girlfriend who is still somewhat conflicted about my ventures on superheroism but is still proud of my personal growth as a person – _maybe_ –”

“Right. Gosh. Where are you going to find someone like that?”

“I may be looking at her right now.”

Pepper crossed her arms. She looked away from him, but he just took that as a chance to get a little closer, shortening the gap between them. “Tell me that you don’t think about that night.”

“What night?”

“The party night.”

“Oh, _that_  night”, she squinted, looking up to him. “When we danced and went to the balcony and then you went to get me a drink and never came back? That night?”

Tony grimaced. “...Yeah?”

She looked him up and down. He was…handsome. Stupid handsome. _Offensively_ handsome. And a good person. Despite everything – or perhaps because of it – he was a good person. “Get me that drink and I’ll start thinking about it.”

She pressed her lips against his – so fast he barely had time to register it - just as the doors opened up. Pepper stepped out, but halted him before he could come along.

“You have someone waiting for you upstairs.”

“Wait, what? Who is it?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. Better not let him waiting.”

Tony ground his teeth. He knew someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. was gonna get on his ass – but not in a good way – sooner or later. They had been far too keen on helping on this whole ordeal to not want something in return.

And, if he remembered anything from his dad’s involvement with the organization, it was probably not a ‘good’ something.

The lights turned on as soon as he came out of the elevator. He was still uncomfortable not to hear J.A.R.V.I.S.’ voice there to greet him, but the A.I. had been fried as well, and like almost everything in the current mess that his loft, he hadn’t had time to set it right.

The overall destruction didn’t seem to faze the figure standing in the middle of his living room, however. He was a tall black man in a trench coat and an eyepatch over his left eye, and in his right hand he had Tony’s smashed helmet.

“’I am Iron Man’," he quoted, turning his eye to Tony. “You think you are the only superhero in the world? Mr. Stark, you’ve just become part of a bigger universe. You just don’t know it yet.”

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, coming closer.

“Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”, he said, throwing the helmet at him. “I’m here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

 

 


	3. P01: The Incredible Hulk.

 

_phase one: some assembly required._

** THE INCREDIBLE HULK **

 

 

 

* * * * * 

 

**PINEDALE, WIOMYING.**

“Mr. Darcy? Mr. Darcy, where are you?” Granny Norris asked, shaking her flashlight through the foggy late summer night. Though the rain had begun to drizzle and weaken, it was still hard to see – especially in Granny Norris’ age. One would have thought it would’ve been wise for, then, to live closer to the rest of the population of the little town of Pinedale, Wyoming, rather than alone in the outskirts of it, but Norris was never one to listen, now, was she?

The age had made her hunch forward, and the cane barely held her up, but still, she braved on, with her scaredy cat of a dog – if that makes any sense – who seemed too keen on barking to anything that moved.

Tonight was hardly different.

“What are you going crazy about, sweetie?”, she laughed, picking him up. The dog had run outside, barking at the woods; it struggled on his leash, squirming to get away “There is nothing there. Just them old rocks. Come on, baby.”

And perhaps she was right; perhaps all there was ahead was the bunch of trees that circled the edge of Pinedale, punctuating the desolated scenario between the town and the mountain-side. Or perhaps it took more than the untrained eye to spot the leaves being blown in the wrong direction.

Under the cover of the night, camouflaged by the bushes, a group of paramilitary personnel moved stealthily; scoping the area with their x-ray goggles, they advanced slowly, under the lead of one captain Emil Blonsky. They had one destination in mind.

“Almost at the spot, General”, Blonsky radioed in.

On the other end of the line, miles away from the searching grounds, General Ross followed the team’s movements with bathed breath. That had been the closest they’d come to the target in almost a year. One wrong move and they’d be throwing progress to the wind. “Have you spotted him yet?”

“No, sir”, Blonsky said, gripping his riffle tightly. “What is the procedure once we do?”

“Same as always. Tranq him. Heel him in. Shoot as many times as you need.”

Blonsky looked back at his squad. It seemed to be a strange request, but they wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

At Blonsky’s command, the unit moved, up the mountain, towards one of the caves encrusted in its surface, where – even in the pitch-black darkness – a slight hint of movement could be perceived. Not a fox or a coyote, however; the world wouldn’t be so lucky.

Now closer, some of his men hesitated; they had seen what that thing could do. What it had done. But the time of hesitation was behind them.

“On my mark”, Blonsky commanded. “Go.”

And they went.

But they weren’t fast enough.

Just as the squad moved _in_ , something – something huge – moved _out_. All they saw was a pair of glowing green eyes staring at them in the dark before a gigantic mass of green muscle charged out of the cave, breaking through the military formation with ease. It jumped, out, into the sky, before most men had had time to process what they had seen. Blonsky, frozen in place by the split-second shock, was knocked back by the impact of the jump.

“Blonsky! What happened?” Ross shouted, over the comms.

“He’s gone, sir”, he answered, scrambling to find words. “Banner’s gone again.”

  
* * *

 

The jumper landed atop a mountain, several miles away from Pinedale. From there, he hoped to an empty field, over a river or two, and then finally another set of caves; each jump shorter than the last, ‘till he found himself tumbling into the entrance of said caves, his body slamming against walls with a painful crack.

The colossal figure shrunk, muscles deflating like a sad after-party balloon, given space to a much punier – much less green – man in its place instead. Bruce Banner, aforementioned man, crawled further inside the cave clutching to his torn clothes and the bag he had managed to grab before taking off. His hands shook, almost feverish, as he tried to pull himself up.

“Robert Bruce Banner. 1977. Culver University. Block C, room 3”, he repeated to himself, stuttering the words – a mantra, an assentation. That he was himself again.

That he was _still_ himself.

He had begun to fear, as the transformations became more frequent, that at some point he would… simply not return. He had luck this time – he was hungry and tired and more scared than angry, really – so the transformation had not taken hold for long.

But Bruce wasn’t so sure he’d be so lucky next time.

Anger. He was not sure why it was anger that triggered his change. Some sort of fight-or-flight instinct gone terribly wrong? Ever since the lab accident, almost a year before, he had found himself turning into an unstoppable green beast, wreaking havoc upon everything in his path.

It was hard to believe there were so many things to make him angry.

Bruce was Physicist. A Biochemist. Had been, at least; now he wasn’t entirely sure anymore. After a year running, both from himself and from the government, it was hard to keep track. It was almost ironic that he was being hunted by the people who’d employed him, funded his studies. Gamma radiation was the name of the game, and he and his team thought they had made a breakthrough. Something to put stem cells to shame. That had not been _quite_ the outcome they expected.

Now he was a fugitive. Hiding in caves. Eating whatever he could scavenge from trash bins in the towns he passed by; never staying in the same place for more than a week, two at best. The government was always on his tail, getting closer every time. It had barely been three days since he had arrived in Wyoming. He didn’t even have time to go out for food.

_Maybe I should leave the US_ , he thought to himself, crouched against the wall, trying to gobble down the last piece of three-day old bread he still had. _Maybe go to South America. I could work on a soda factory_.

That would be interesting. Being an everyday-man, getting his hands dirty. He’d get to know what all those doctors and professors who come to America to scrub toilets had to go through.

All jobs are dignified, but not all pay above minimum wage and have health benefits.

Whatever it was ahead, could way for morning. Now he just wanted to sleep.

  
* * *

 

**RIO BRANCO, NEW MEXICO.**

After you’ve travelled for a while down these beaten-up paths across America, these small towns all begin to look eerily the same – especially in the Mid-West. He had passed through a lot of barns with the words ‘REPENT’ or ‘THE DEVIL IS REAL’ written in bold red letters on their roofs.

And, for whatever reason, there was always a lot of corn.

So much corn.

One thing they all seemed to have in common was that, regardless of where he was, he was pretty much always the only non-white person walking around. In any other situation that would not have bothered him as much, but considering he was trying to go by inconspicuously…that kinda became a problem.

Maybe that was how the military was finding him so fast. Maybe General Ross – and he was absolutely sure it was Thunderbolt Ross’ hand on hunting him down; the man had had in it for him even before the accident happened – had put an APB on him. If that was the case, he’d been hoping the ‘all Asians look the same’ thing people liked to pull so often would kick in and help him out, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

It was hard to imagine Ross having eyes and ears in _this_ particular town, however. By the outdoor in the entrance of town, he was somewhere called ‘Rio Blanco’, New Mexico; despite the fact that there wasn’t a river anywhere to be seen for miles. Much like Pinedale, it was more like one long street with a handful of buildings scattered around and a cemetery nearby – there was always a cemetery, for some ungodly reason.

Lucky for him, though, there was also a cybercafé.

Okay, maybe ‘cybercafé’ is a strong word. It was more like…two or three desktop computers lined up against the wall, running on what he was sure was the world’s oldest version of Windows. Hell, it was probably still using dial-up connection. But, for what he needed, it was more than enough.

He paid the lady at the counter, choosing to ignore the triple-take she gave him – his two-sizes-too-big clothes and the dirt all over him also made Bruce look like he had crawled himself out of a hole in the desert – and sat up in the back. Since he didn’t have a portable computer (and he didn’t trust one would be able to withstand his little trips cross-country), those pit-stops at anywhere with available internet had become part of his routine.

A little after his…condition began manifesting and he was forced to go on the run, Bruce took upon the dark web to try and find someone that could help him find a cure for his condition – someone he could trust. Or, worst case scenario, someone that could run the tests he couldn’t. His search eventually led him into finding a man that called himself ‘Mr. Blue’.

Bruce had no idea who Mr. Blue was, where he was from, or what his deal was. All he knew was that the man worked with Gamma radiation, and he was willing to help; and he had, actually. Not enough to heal him, but enough to make the transformations more bearable. He was the one who’d suggested the mantra to begin with.

It could also be him that was leaking his location to the US government, but Bruce was trying to stay optimistic.

He plugged in his flash drive and decrypted the files, starting out the secure connection he and Mr. Blue had developed. With a little luck, the guy would be on the other end, unlike last time.

> _U there?_ He asked, and pressed ‘send’.

The answer, as he feared, didn’t come immediately.

Bruce waited, patiently, for any sign of life, trying to ignore the cold chills running down his spine. He could see the woman in the counter had shot him a strange look more than once; being discreet was not most people’s forte, it seemed. Scooching a little closer to the screen, he opened a new incognito tab.

He knew he shouldn’t, obviously; the NSA could be watching. He was painfully aware of the webcam pointing at his direction. But…you know, if they were tracking him, they’d probably already be on the way anyway, right?

The news website he checked had articles about a ‘hulking green creature’ – a fitting name, he thought – being spotted across several different states. Some conspiracy theorists were saying these were bigfoot sightings; others, that it had something to do with aliens; one or two even tried to link it to the sudden reappearance of that playboy, what was his name, again? Spark? None of them seem to link it back to him.

No doubt that Ross was covering any tracks. Best to let people think this ‘hulk’ thing walking around was just a yeti with a skin disease.

The only news attached to his name were from the year prior, still talking about the Culver University explosion – though all of them seemed to forget missing his current status. He clicked on the first link, as he’d done a hundred times before, skimming through the words as if he expected them to reveal something new to him; but all it really talked about was the accident and the aftermath.

Sometimes when he closed his eyes, Bruce could still remember it. Not clearly – but flashes and images and sounds. He remembered activating the machinery, and how it quickly overloaded, despite all his calculations programmed to do otherwise. He had tried to shut it down, stopping the flashing red button of danger, but the noise only grew worse. Then it blew.

After that, it was a blur.

There were flashes, sometimes, of his hands growing and growing and growing to an impossible size. Screams. Fire. One of his students, Rick Jones; half of his body trapped under a fallen wall. And Betty –

Betty was there. Unconscious. Blood all over her face. Her father was clutching her close to him, shouting at Bruce things he couldn’t comprehend. Scared, Bruce had run – and kept running, until he found himself staring at the ocean, asking himself what he had done. It took him weeks until he gathered the courage to find out the truth, but even if finding out she was alive brought him relief, it didn’t atone for his other crimes.

She has the love of his life, Betty Ross. The only woman he could love. They had met in their first week of college, and – as he so often liked to joke – the chemistry was all there. Got together really quickly, got engaged even faster. He was gonna spend the rest of his life with her… if he hadn’t made the breakthrough with the Gamma radiation. He got so invested on it, so _obsessed_ with getting results, he didn’t even notice their relationship deteriorating.

The split was amicable still, the remained good friends. She knew his work as important, and he knew he wasn’t giving what she needed. Betty was the one to put in a good word with her father (the old man had never liked his face much) and convinced him to get the government to throw some money at Bruce’s research project. She was already dating someone else – someone that worked with her father, it seemed – by the time the accident happened.

They were still going strong, last Bruce checked. Survived the explosion without any lasting damage. Not everybody had been so lucky.

There was an image attached to the news report, taken the day before the explosion. Rick was there, as were Bruce and Betsy; Dr. Samuel Sterns, who’d been assisting him on the project, and the Chos. Helen and Frank Cho had been his colleagues, friends and partners for as long as Betty had – they had trusted he knew what he was doing.

Now he was reading Frank’s obituary.

A _blunt trauma to the head_ , it said, and no matter how many times Bruce read it, the words never changed. _Probably caused by falling debris_. His fault completely, absolutely, without a doubt.

Bruce gritted his teeth, his hand clutching the mouse so tightly he feared it would shatter, a bulging green vein popping up along his arm. He could hear the sound of beeping coming from somewhere, which at first he believed to be from his fitness tracker – he’d been using it to measure his blood pressure, so he could at least predict when the shift would come; another good idea from Mr. Blue – but even after he did his breathing exercise to calm down, it still didn’t stop. That was when he noticed the red bubble over the chat app.

Mr. Blue had responded.

> _Hello, friend_ , the message read. _Sorry I couldn’t answer your last message_.

> ‘ _Salright_ , Bruce answered, trying to ignore the twitch of his fingers.

> _How have you been?_

> _Could be better_. He considered telling his friend about his most recent transformation, but he felt it would be too much information too suddenly. Mr. Blue didn’t know his exposure to radiation had been changing him; by all accounts, he just had a very strange breed of cancer.

And, also, that for whatever reason he was being hunted by the government. And it wasn’t just because he hadn’t paid his health insurance.

> _I’ve received your package_ , Mr. Blue said, referring to the blood sample Banner had sent him weeks before. _I think I may have found a way to help you_.

> _An antidote?_

> _Of sorts_. _But so far it has had temporary effect. I need more to work on._

> _More samples?_

> _I think it is time we meet in person._

Bruce took pause. That would be too dangerous – both for himself and his partner.

> _Can’t. Not yet. Too risky._

> _Can I at least take a look at your original formula? I could find clues to help out there._

> _I don’t have access to it right now._

> _Where is it?_

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. The think about it was to long for it, and with the longing came the temptation to return. He knew he would have to, someday, that his path would always lead him back to Culver – where he wanted or not.

> _Home_ , he answered, with a resigned sigh.

 

* * *

 

There were no bus stations in Rio Blanco, which was, in all honesty, not entirely surprising. According to the old lady in the cybercafé, nobody had a car available for rent either, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t entirely true.

Nevertheless, he had to drag his ass through the empty, arid roads that paved the way until the next town over, ignoring the aching in his legs that made him think his bones were about to crumble into dust. Why did that dumb country need to be so big? Why couldn’t it be a little more like Europe, where you can drive for three hours and pass through six different countries?

He kinda wished he could just…shift into the big guy and take off. Problem was that there was always the risk of him not knowing where he would land next. He ended up in Alaska one time, and he wasn’t even sure how he had managed to find his way back.

Bruce figured at some point he would start getting used to losing entire weeks at a time, but that had not been the case.

Luck smiled upon him and he managed to catch a ride a couple of miles into his peregrination. He was probably the only hitchhiker to ever get into some strange man’s truck without having to worry about waking up dead in a ditch somewhere.

Blessing in disguise, silver lining, whatever you wanna call it.

He arrived in Cloudgate a little after seven. The sky was already dark, and most of the streets of the city were empty. There was something eerie about how quiet it was, all these buildings with their lights turned off. Bruce tried to move about in the shadows, but for the first time in a while he didn’t have to worry about drawing attention to himself.

The longer he went on, however, the more he started to worry about whether or not that was a good thing. It felt very ‘calm-before-the-storm’-esque; part of him was half-expecting to see sniper riffles pointing at him through closed windows, ready to take the shot.

But there was no way Ross could’ve gotten his scent that quickly, could he? _Could_ he?

No, no, he was sure that wasn’t the case. It was too quiet for them to be sneaking out on him. In fact, the only noise he could hear was his fitness tracker telling him to chill out. Well, that and the sound of…he wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe weeping?

Yeah. Weeping. And not too far away, either. He couldn’t tell if it was just the quietness of the streets amplifying the noise of it, or if it was the same sort of heightened hearing he’d developed as of late, that seemed to always kick in whenever he was in imminent danger, like when he caught on the sound of those military men closing in on his hiding spot.

But the crying wasn’t from one of Ross’ men. There were two other men in an ally, not much further from the bus station: one was on his knees, but not in the good way a guy gets on his knees behind a building for – he was an older fella, pretty roughened, tears and blood mixing up all over his face; the other was the guy that had put him in that condition, a 6-feet tall dude who was kicking him around like an overused soccer ball.

   “Please – please, it’s the only money I got left –” the man on the floor pleaded. “I need to go see my daught–”

But the other guy didn’t let him continue. Rather, he kneeled the old man in the face, the distinct sound of a nose breaking echoing through the alley. “I don’t give a shit about your bitch ass daughter, man! You owe me and now you wanna skip outta town? Empty your damn pocket!”

Bruce hesitated. He wanted to step in – he needed to step in – the man was already coughing up blood – but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His fitness tracker had already gone from annoying to insane, and the bulging green veins popping up along his arm spoke for themselves. If he tried to get involved, there was no telling if he would end up hurting more than doing any good; for himself and for the man he was trying to help.

He chose instead to step back, breathing sharply. Putting the man’s cries behind him, he bolted towards the bus station, hoping if he ran fast enough, his conscience wouldn’t catch up to him.

 

* * *

 

**AROUND THAT SAME TIME, MILITARY BASE, NEW JERSEY.**

Blonsky paced himself back and forth, walking around in circles in front of the closed doors of the conference room – where, at that very moment, General Ross was having a meeting with his superiors, undoubtedly to talk about the recent failure in Wyoming. He’d been doing that for an hour or so, trying to decide whether or not he should make it look like he was just casually passing by, even if the people on the other side of those doors could probably hear the sound of his shoes scrapping against the hard-wood floors over and over again.

It had been three days since Blonsky and his team had been left to eat dirt in that nowheresville town, chasing after their own proverbial tail. Ross had not very communicative in the meantime; unlike previous attempts at catching Banner, he hadn’t come to berate him on his failures (which, by all accounts, told Blonsky there was something wrong going on).

Something told him it had something to do with the fact that it had been the first time they had actually gotten close enough to _see_ Banner escaping. Up until that point, Emil had thought he was just elusive – most (good) spies and criminals are. That had made the chase more interesting; more _compelling_. Now…

Now he wasn’t so sure about that.

Russian-born but English-raised, Blonsky had been in the service since he was old enough to put on a uniform. MI3, MI4, MI5, Special Forces – he had been around the block. Up until recently, he’d been under the impression he had seen it all. His experiences in this manhunt had proven differently, however.

That thing they had seen… that was something else. Something beyond human.

In one hand, it explained why Ross had requested his transference from England: he was the best at what he did, and he did it quickly and efficiently. It was also part of his code of conduct to ask as few questions as it was possible. Unfortunately for Ross, his code of conduct didn’t cover 10-feet-tall behemoths that could jump so high they disappeared into the clouds.

  _That_ would require a little explanation. Whether or not Ross was up for it, though? That was an entirely different story.

“Sir? General Ross, sir, do you have a moment?” he asked, the moment Ross stepped out of his meeting, followed closely by his lap dog, Major Talbot.

“Not right now, Blonsky”, Ross answered, hurriedly, walking in the opposite direction.

“Sir, it’s about the Banner case.”

“No shit, Sherlock”, Talbot scoffed.

Blonsky chose to ignore her. That had become his second favorite hobby. “You told us Banner was a North Korean spy. That he stole government secrets. That’s not what we saw back there.”

Ross stopped abruptly, almost bumping into Talbot on the way. “That’s classified information. Considering you’re officially off the case, it doesn’t concern you.”

Blonsky craved his nails so hard against the palm of his hand, for a second he thought it would break skin. _Of course_ he wouldn’t even get a proper release of his duties.

But that didn’t mean he was going to quit that easily.

“Pardon the frankness, sir, but the reason my team was unsuccessful was due to the fact that we had no idea what we were upon against. If we had been informed of who – of _what_ we were really after, I could’ve assembled a team to –”

“You’re after Banner”, Ross cut short.

“Then what was that thing on the cave?”

“That was Banner”, Talbot chipped in, smirking in that kind of way people who are In The Knowing do. This time, he decided to pay attention to her.

He looked over, from Talbot to Ross and back to Talbot, almost expecting them to do a ‘gotcha!’ that never came.

“What do you know about Gamma radiation, Blonsky?” Ross asked, with an arched eyebrow.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, wait, lemme – let me just get this straight. Banner is somehow capable of turning into a giant green beast because he was exposed to some made up chemicals?” Blonsky asked, with a chuckle of disbelief.

“What? Gamma radiation is not made up. Have you never taken a chemistry lesson before?” Talbot frowned. She had accompanied Ross and Blonsky back to Thaddeus’ office, where the General had explained – in broad terms – what had happened in the explosion at Culver University.

“Whatever. It’s stupid. It’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t believe it at first, either”, she had, shifting uncomfortably in the chair next to him. “Had Betty not shown me the footage of that day…”

“There’s _footage_?!”

“It’s classified”, Ross cut in. He shot her a displeased look. Talbot should never have let been in on the information – but saying the accident that had put her girlfriend in the hospital was ‘classified’ did not convince, and she was too clever for her own good not to realize there was something more going on behind the so-called accident.

Besides, it wasn’t like Betty was gonna be able to keep a secret for her life. There was a reason she’d won ‘tattletale of the year’ of her elementary school four years in a row.

“So what exactly – what _is_ he, now?” Blonsky asked.

“A mutate. Something new. Something… dangerous”, Ross answered, measuring his words. “We can’t be sure if he can change on his own accords, or if there are triggers, and what those are. The results of the experiment are far more than what his team and ours expected.”

“And what _did_ you expect, sir?”

Talbot shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Ross stiffened – even more so than he already was. “Banner believed he could use Gamma radiation to reactivate self-regeneration of decaying cells. Cure cancer, the standard. We saw…other uses for Gamma rays, if done right.”

“Such as?” Blonsky pressed on.

“Replacement for Vita rays, for starters.”

An onlooker could almost spot the gears turning at a high speed on Blonsky’s brains as he tried connecting the dots. Not that there was much to connect – anyone with half a brain knew what Vita rays had been used for; though, of course, Russia’s relationship with the project went much further than most American agencies cared to know.

Not that Blonsky was gonna be the one to start talking about it.

“You are trying to replicate the super-soldier program.”

“Were”, Talbot corrected, but Emil wasn’t so convinced. It was easier to believe in a Gamma-ray bred monster than the US government not trying to engineer super-weapons.

“I thought Dr. Erskine had taken the formula to his grave.”

“He did. And the Captain took any chance of 100% replicating it with him, but we make-do.”

“Not successfully, it seems.”

Blonsky allowed himself a cheeky smile. At least the Motherland was more successful in that aspect.

“So, you want Banner back to study him, or to make him keep working?” He asked, leaning back on his chair. “He must be valuable.”

“He is. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get –”

They were interrupted by the sound of three knocks on the door. “Excuse me, General?” came a mousy voice, from outside.

A meekly man, more skin and bones than person, popped in. Judging the haircut (or lack thereof) and the poor attempt at growing a moustache, it looked like the man hadn’t seen a barber in months.

“Yes?”

“There is, uh, someone calling you in the conference center. Something about an undefined aircraft acting up in the middle east. Around the place Stark was found.”

“What else is new?” Ross rolled eyes. “See, this is why you don’t lend favors to the air force. I’ll be right back.”

He left, stomping his feet and complaining about someone called James. Talbot got up to follow him – unsurprisingly – but she stopped at the door. “Do you know the man that just came in?” she asked Blonsky.

“No. Should I?”

“He was an assistant in Banner’s project. A doctor, I think. Now he’s… a little more than a janitor. He wasn’t much before, but he’s even less now. Another life Banner ruined.”

“I don’t see how –”

“Think very carefully whether or not you’re up for this mission, Colonel Blonsky”, she continued. “And what you are willing to risk to get it done.”

“I’m a fighter. I never back down from a fight.”

“Even the ones you can’t win?”

“Haven’t found one of those yet.”

Talbot’s expression shifted, into something also resembling a smile. “A word of advice, then: if and when you see him, shoot to kill. Don’t hesitate. He won’t.”

And she left, chasing after what he was sure were her dreams of a promotion. Now, whether or not she was wrong… he’d want to see that for himself.

  
* * *

 

**CULVER UNIVERSITY, WILLOWDALE, VIRGINIA.**

It took about three days to travel between New Mexico and Virginia – but, despite being stressed through every aching minute of the journey (save for those few good minutes when he managed to fall asleep). Bruce had succeeded in not ‘hulking out’ a single time. He had also taken a liking to the whole 'hulking’ schtick; he wasn’t sure if the big guy was gonna be fine with it, but it wasn’t like the two of them were having lengthy philosophical conversations, either way.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ignored Betty about those sociology classes he skipped in college. Maybe what he lacked was being introspective.

Or someone to proofread his formula. That would’ve worked as well.

Whatever the case may have been, the trip had taken every penny out of Bruce’s pockets, the last few bucks he had scrambled to get out of his account before the government froze his assets. The hope he had now was that, once he sent his files to Mr. Blue, he would finally be able to help him for good.

Well, not 'once’ – _if_. First, he would need to get his hands on aforementioned files, which was an entirely different conversation. Probably also not a good one.

A positive outcome had been that at least he had gotten the opportunity to sleep. Other than caffeine (and seeing Betty), that was what he missed the most: a good place to put his head. On the early days, he had tried renting small bedrooms in those places where married fathers of four take the underage callgirls (and boys) they picked up on street corners; discreet, didn’t ask for names or credit cards, the kind of place that was becoming hard to find. The problem was that Ross’ men caught up to him in one of these, he panicked and tried escaping through the window of the bathroom but got stuck, panic led to anger, anger led to tearing up walls, and now he had another reason not to visit Texas.

But that would change. He would fix it. No more running.

Bruce snatched a cap from someone snoring teen’s head on his way out of the bus station, heading to the university. The first thing he noticed was that the place was crawling with police officers. Any other situation he would’ve been glad – Culver had a shitty security system as it was – but this was not the time to celebrate.

Some of the officers were wearing uniforms, but most were trying to blend in with the student crowd; they were easy to spot, even ignoring the age difference. It’s something about the shoes, you know?

_Did they really think I was gonna come back here?_ he thought, almost annoyed. Yes, he _had_ gone back, but why would they assume he wanted to go back to where he had been running from?

Hopefully that meant his research had been left there. Either that, or…

Shit. Was Betty – did Betty still work there?

His first impulse was to go to her office. He needed to – he had to – see her. Talk to her. At least once. At least one more time. Betty would understand. Betty would help.

Betty was also protected inside the buildings of Culver, which now required biometrics to access. That was… Not Good, in capital letters for emphasis.

He approached the main gate, adjusting his cap over his face. It was a new security guard – good, he didn’t get recognized straight away, but bad, ‘cause he couldn’t charm his way past the turnstile. Simon would’ve left him pass in exchange for a little seven minutes in heaven in a nearby closet. Bruce was sure the fact he was wanted for murder wouldn’t hinder his chances that much.

_Okay. Okay. That’s fine. That’s cool. There’s gotta be another way in_ , he thought, backing away. Surely there was another way in. A backdoor? A fence? Maybe he could dress up like a pizza delivery boy and –

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked someone behind him.

Bruce turned around, but there was nobody in his line of sight. A little lower, on the other hand…

“Oh my – shit. Ricky?”

Rick Jones, his friend and student, was waiting behind him. In a wheelchair. Looking pissed.

“Yeah, genius. What the hell are you doing here?” he asked again, pulling at his shirt. “Do you know how many people are looking for you?! Come on!”

Rick pulled him away from the gates of the university, though Bruce hesitated to follow. He was still trying to process it – was this his fault? Was he the one to put Jones in a chair?

God. He had been so focused on Betty and the Chos, he hadn’t even stopped to think –

“Okay, I think this is far enough”, Rick said, when they stopped in a corner of the park, near where a bunch of disgusting teenage couples were trying to eat each other’s faces in what passed as ‘making out’. At least that meant nobody was looking at them for longer than a couple of seconds.

“Rick – what happened to you?”

“What do you think happened? You dropped a building on me. Sit down.”

“I’m – I’m so sorry. I never meant – this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I know. I don’t actually blame you or anything”, he sighed. “I volunteered for the project. I insisted on working on it. I should’ve known your dumb ass would blow something up at some point.”

“Hey! I was your teacher!” Bruce hushed, sitting on the nearest bench. “And I was kinda good at it.”

“Yeah, when you managed to stay on topic for five minutes”, Rick rolled eyes. “You know there are people looking for you all over the country, right?”

“Yeah.”

“For _murder_ , Bruce.”

“Yes. But… I don’t think that’s _really_ why they are looking for me.” He looked around, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. “There’s a lot more going on here, Rick.”

“Can I help?”

Banner looked back at the entrance of the university. “You know what? I think you might.”

 

* * *

 

Rick took him to his dorm, somewhere they could talk more privately. Bruce had been there a couple of times before – either because he had to drop by when Jones forgot his material in the lab, or because Rick had asked for some extra tutoring, or even that one time when he had managed to convince Banner to watch a football game with him (even though Bruce was…hardly the sports guy). At some point Ricky had suggested giving him a massage there as well, but Bruce had seen enough Woody Allen movies to know where that was going.

He was surprised, however, when they didn’t go to the dorms, but rather an apartment nearby.

“The dorms didn’t have wheelchair access”, Rick explained. “So, the university is paying this up. Out of guilt, probably.”

“Bet you aren’t complaining.”

It was a nice – albeit small – apartment, with a nice view to the calzone place across the street. Judging by the smell of weed and socks, Ricky had been living there for a while.

“Why didn’t you turn yourself in, Bruce?” he asked, as soon as the door was locked. “Dr. Cho’s death was an accident. They weren’t gonna arrest you for it. I think.”

“I know. I was running from my conscience, more than anything”, Bruce said, closing the lids on the window. “But the government doesn’t want to get me because of Frank’s death. Do you remember what happened that day?”

“Yeah. We started the Gamma pulse, then it started flashing warning signals. You knew the only way to turn it off was to go in, even if everyone was telling you not to. Then it blew up.”

“And I should have died with that blast. But I… I didn’t. It changed me instead.”

“Changed you how?” his eyes widened. “Did you grow an extra penis? Can I see it?”

“What? No, I didn’t – It’s not like that!” he stepped back, before Rick could come grab his junk. “Somehow I’m capable of…of turning, now. Of shifting between forms.”

“Like a werewolf?”

“Kind of. But less hairy. And bigger. And greener.”

“Wait. _Wait_. _You’re_ the yeti?! From the pictures?”

“Sort of. It’s not a yeti, technically –”

“But how? How do you get all those muscles? And – and – does _everything_ about you change, or–?”

“The _important_ thing –” Bruce cut short. He folded his arms, leaning against the wall. “Is that it is dangerous. An uncontrollable. And if it – if I – fall into the wrong hands, they will try to use it for their own needs. You’ve seen the pictures. Can you imagine a dozen of those things in a battlefield?”

“We can. We probably wouldn’t spend so much on weaponry. Stark Industries would go bankrupt.”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough, Rick!”

“I am, B. But what am I supposed to do?” he said, coming closer. “You can stay here for as long as you need, but you haven’t even told me why you’re here in the first place.”

“I’m trying to find a cure.” Bruce sank down onto the floor, his back pressed against the wall, hugging his knees. “If I can take a look at my formula, I can find where I went wrong... I can fix myself. Then I can turn myself in.”

“How are you even gonna replicate the experiment? I don’t think the dean is gonna let you use the facilities.”

“I know somebody. He calls himself Mr. Blue. He’s been helping me.”

“Can you trust him? How do you know he’s not the one leaking your location, or luring you into a trap?”

“’Cause sometimes I spend weeks without talking to him, but they still track me down anyway. I don’t have a phone or anything, so they aren’t pinning my signal.”

“No, but they are probably tracking your radiation imprint”, Rick said, scratching the failed attempt at a beard he had been trying to grow since he was in high school. “I’m betting the longer you stay at a place, the stronger the imprint get. They probably have a way to find you faster now that they know what to look for.”

Bruce nodded, trying to give the impression that he had already factored that in on his plans, even though that was the first time it had occurred to him. Sometimes he asked himself what was the point of having seven PhDs.

“Are you going to help me get into the university, Ricky?” he asked, looking up to his friend.

Rick’s nose wrinkled. “I will. But it’s not gonna be easy.”

“When is it ever?”

 

* * *

 

Ricky’s proficiency in hacking the system of Culver University made Bruce ask himself – and him – why he had chosen to study something like Biology when he could have joined Anonymous or made money blackmailing politicians like any decent internet-savvy person; but according to him it was easier meeting boys on campus than trusting those hot Russian singles in his area, whatever that meant.

He scooped around the files, but didn’t find anything – which was not entirely surprising. Bruce had expected the university to clean up after themselves, so erasing any sign of his Gamma project (or Banner, for that matter); that was why he was hoping there were still physical copies of his files somewhere in his old office, or at least in an old storage facility somewhere.

To get to it, Bruce would need to use the cover of the night, when there was nobody else on campus. Rick assured him he could use the cameras to keep an eye on him, just in case he needed it.

“But you’re not coming with me?”

“You think I could outrun the guards at the moment?” he joked, rolling eyes. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get caught and end up hurting yourself…or someone else.”

Bruce knew what he meant. The fitness tracker wrapped tight around his wrist had been beeping nervously all day long, which only served to make him more nervous. A reminder of his own mortality, but louder and more annoying.

While they waited for nightfall, the hours ticking away twice longer than usual, Bruce took the opportunity to check upon Mr. Blue. Rick was still skeevy of the other man’s intentions, but at least in this Banner knew what he was doing. He knew if there was somebody out there who could find an answer to his problem, it was Blue.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the green dot indicating Mr. Blue was online.

_> Hello, friend_ , came the message, shortly after. _Sooner than expected_.

> _I’m close to the formula_ , Bruce wrote back. _I may even get it tonight_.

> _Wonderful news! Make sure to keep me posted_.

“Why not just ask him to meet you here?” Jones asked, scooping next to him.

“He’s a scholar, he probably doesn’t have the money to be flying around.”

“And do _you_?”

“You’ve seen the videos. I can get around fast.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Can you actually change on command, or –”

“I need a trigger.”

“Like this?” and he pinched him in the shoulder.

“No, Rick! Jesus! Like anger. Or stress. Anything that makes my beating increase.”

“Your _beating_?”

“My _heart_ beating, Richard. Focus.”

“Right, right. Okay. That makes sense. It’s flight-or-fight instinct-based mutation. Probably because you weren’t in-touch with your emotions like a normal human being.”

“Okay, okay, first of all, I was, alright?” Bruce said, pointing a shaky finger at him. “I was perfectly normal and adjusted, thank you very much.”

“Su-re. Is that why you didn’t say anything to Professor Ross when she started dating that square lady, even though you’re still in love with her?”

“What was I supposed to say? That she _couldn’t_ restart her life after we broke up? That’s selfish.”

“True. Maybe you should’ve taken better care of your relationship, then.”

“Are you trying to get a rile out of me, Jones?”

“I don’t know”, Rick squinted. “Is it working?”

“I would tear your apartment apart. I don’t think you have insurance for that.”

He didn’t, but Rick still thought it would be an interesting sight to see in person.

They waited until the last students started leaving the campus, half-zombie shadows of their former selves; dragging about their backpacks and groaning, longing for the moment where they would hit the bed and sleep. Not long afterwards, the entrance of the building closed down and the guards switched shifted – according to Rick, so that the nightshift could start patrolling the hallways.

The number of Inconspicuous Secret Agents walking around was smaller as well. After a year, odds were they had started to think ‘if he hasn’t shown up yet, why is he going to show up today?’ to excuse why they were ditching work early.

Or at least that was what Bruce was hoping for.

“I can give you thirty minutes”, Rick instructed, before he headed out. “But if you’re smart you won’t need more than that.”

“I will get it done”, Bruce assured, adjusting the earpiece under his cap. It wasn’t actually an earpiece so much as it was the half of a Bluetooth headset that they had improvised. At least it would keep them in contact.

With one last wish of good luck, Bruce headed out, using the cover of night as his coat. The chirping noise of the crickets followed him all the way to his destination, as did the feeling of him being watched – hopefully only by the security cameras under Rick’s watchful eye and nobody else. He had grown worried that having stayed the entire afternoon there in the same spot could have raised his chances of being tracked down; if they were finding him by his Gamma radiation levels, then they would be there any minute now.

But for him, that just meant he had to move faster.

As he reached the entrance of the school, making sure there were no eyes to spot him, the main gate unlocked with a click, a remote _open Sesame_ that reminded him that technology was both a blessing and a curse.

The corridors of Culver were long and dark and lonely, but they still smelled and felt exactly how he remembered them – like home. He missed bumping into students who were too busy snogging to notice people passing, or that had had so many shots of caffeine their brains were working on autopilot. He missed walking around with Betty at his side, while they shit-talking their colleagues who were, in many cases, The Worst.

He missed Betty.

Once again he found himself moved by the impulse of going after her – of seeing her, even if for a moment, even if from afar. If he knew her, he’d be up there until late, working on her projects; even if he hadn’t told Rick that. Bruce stopped himself however, as upon approaching her building, he saw not only that there was still light on the window of her office, but that there was more than once shadow moving around. That was not good.

“Bruce? Time’s running out”, Rick reminded.

“You’re right”, he nodded, hurrying ahead. His office was in Block C; the third room to the left, right next to the water cooler.

Except…it didn’t seem to be there anymore. Well, it was, but at the door it read ‘janitor closet’ instead. And it was very much locked.

“You think my stuff’s still in here?” he asked aloud.

“They can take it to the administration center or the library, but then they would be available to the students”, Rick noted. “But God knows none of these lazy asses will ever pick up a broom to save their lives.”

“Can you open the door remotely?”

“Nope. It’s not part of the new system. It doesn’t even exist here on this map.”

“Great. Of course.”

“Can’t _you_ open it? Make the other guy open it?”

“I don’t – I can’t control it.”

“Well, buddy, you better figure something out, ‘cos there is a guard headed your way in two minutes.”

Bruce groaned. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, perhaps in the vain hope that it would somehow open itself magically; that, at least once, things would work out the way they are supposed to for him, and that he would finally get a little ahead of the curve – that he would be able to take control of his life, instead of just being kicked around like a soccer ball, desperately trying to get a hold of a sense of security long enough to catch his breath.

He twisted and twisted and twisted, the anger boiling in his veins, until he heard the distinct sound of something snapping, and the door swung open.

“Holy shit”, he heard Rick whisper, and he was thinking the same thing.

To his relief, all his stuff was still inside – it seemed, almost exactly the way he had left it. Or, rather, simulated to make it seem it was; but he could tell, by instinct, that someone had gone through his stuff.

But was it a good someone or a bad someone?

That was what he needed to find out.

Diving into his files, Bruce dug through the hundreds of pages he had stashed in his cabinets, many of them just blank pages he had scribed a couple of words into so he wouldn’t forget (except, of course, he did). There were no signs of his Gamma pulse project anywhere – and every single mention of it on just diary/science journal had been completely ripped off.

And that, as he was about to find out when the door opened again and a light flashed on his face, wasn’t even the worst part of his night.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell are you doing in here?” she asked, and her voice washed over him with a feeling of relief he hadn’t felt for longer than he could remember.

“Betty?”

It was her – the same Betty he remembered. Shame square chin, same button nose. The short hair was a surprise, though.

She stepped closer to him, closing the door behind her. Part of him kinda-maybe hoped she would be glad to see him, but that was not the reaction he got; rather, he found himself staring at the end of a gun.

That was even more of a surprise.

“I can explain!” he said, raising his arms, his back against his desk.

“You don’t have that kind of time”, she said, but at least she lowered the gun. Since when did she have a gun? _Why_ did she have a gun? How was she even _there_?

“Listen, just – just give me five minutes. Everything will make sense to you.”

“You’re looking for your research. You’re probably trying to find a way to revert the transformation. Judging by the little thing in your ear, you’ve got Rick Jones to help you. That’s how you managed to bypass the alarms, and why half the cameras are off.”

“Tell professor Ross hi for me”, he heard Rick said in his ear, but Bruce ignored him.

He had something more pressing in mind. “How did you – are you – are you Mr. –”

“You’re not half as slick you’d think, Bruce”, she said, and Bruce could _almost_ see a smile creeping in the corner of her lips.  That’s what she had always told him. “They were expecting you. _I_ was expecting you. And now they are coming.”

“How do you know?”

“There are alarms set up in this room. I’m guessing Jones didn’t figure it out, since this room doesn’t officially exist”, she said, and Bruce could hear a scream of SHIT loudly in his ear. “I rigged it so it would warn me first, but I don’t think you got more than five minutes before they get here.”

“But – but my research –”

“They took it. Everything. My father – you shouldn’t have come.”

There was something about her voice. A note between sad and worried – a note that told him they both knew exactly what was coming.

Betty stepped out of the way to let him pass, even though she didn’t want to. In the year since they had parted ways, Betty had thought of a thousand scenarios on how they would meet again; every time there was a new report on sightings of the green beast, she worried it would be the moment her father would drag him back, to have him killed… or worse.

But now he was back and he was right there, and she had to let him go again.

Bruce ran towards the entrance of the building, but he didn’t get very far. The plainclothes that had been scattered around town had come out of their hiding places and were charging towards the entrance of the building, stopped only by – he could only assume – was the intervention of Jones, who was keeping the gates locked up.

“I’m gonna try to make their lives a little more difficult, B”, he heard Rick say, as he turned around and charged in the opposite direction.

In the dark of the university, he could barely see where he was going. There were corridors – so many corridors – did this university always have this many corridors? – and left turns and right turns and sets of stairs that seemed to go on forever. Doors unlocked with a click as he pushed past them, and slammed shut whenever one of the agents following him got too close.

But, even as he ran and hid, using whatever stamina he had managed to save up the last few days, there was still the nagging feeling of him not reaching anywhere. He was still trapped, surrounded by all sides, and unless a miracle happened, there was no way to escape.

Sadly, this is not a story about miracles.

Stumbling on his feet, Bruce managed to get to the library, in time to see dozens of green dots being pointed at him from several angles. He dodged behind one of the shelves, clutching his heart for air; the fitness tracker on his arm had gone insane. _I’m not gonna make it out of here alive_ , Bruce thought, watching the numbers raise up to the 80s. _Or, worse, **they** won’t_.

“This is a mistake”, he shouted, peeping over his shoulder. “You guys need to leave me alone!”

But it wasn’t like they were gonna listen, anyway. Outside of the window, he could see there were helicopters approaching – and fast. Soldiers were marching through the campus and, from afar, he could almost spot a tank rolling closer. The General was there too, it seemed.

He was surrounded, by there was still a way... one last way to get out, if he was fast enough.

When he heard the footsteps approaching, Banner pushed himself against the shelf, ‘till it collapsed under his weight. It tumbled down, crashing against the other shelves in a hurricane of books and magazines that go flying everywhere; in the confusion, he bolted towards the second floor, a rain of bullets missing him by an inch.

While he made a run for it, outside, Betty was also running. She had spotted her father’s tank approaching even before Bruce had, and she knew what that meant for Bruce’s chances of making out of there alive.

She had seen her father’s anger over Bruce’s scape in the months since the accident. At first, she had thought it came from a place of…if not love, maybe caring – Banner’s experiment had put her in the hospital, and one of their lead researchers was dead. It soon became clear (not in part because Glenn tended to talk too much if let unattended) that his desire to catch him was far less altruistic.

He knew Bruce would try to come back, and find a way to get better. That didn’t align with the government’s plans for him, apparently. It also didn’t help that they hadn’t managed to replicate the results of the test without Banner’s help decoding his terrible handwriting.

With Bruce under their thumb, however, that would be…much easier.

That was why he had bugged the security system on his office, and why she had stayed such long hours in the university – regardless of how much Glenn complained about the latter. She wanted to be the first to get to him. To help him.

Even if it meant standing between him and her father’s tank, her arms spread wide, ready to risk it all. The machine screeched and halted, inches away from rolling her over into a carpet.

“I know you’re in there!” she screamed. “I know you can hear me, General! DAD!”

There was an excruciatingly long pause while the engines cooled down, before the door of the tank was kicked open and Ross stepped out, fuming so much his moustache was about to catch fire. “Move. Out of the way, child!”

“You can’t do this to him! He’s a person! He has rights!”

“We’ve been through this”, he said, trying to put his hands on her shoulder; she was quick to brush him off. “He’s a danger. To himself, to others–”

“He’s a _man_ , and he’s _scared_! He just needs our help!”

“You’re too emotionally compromised. Talbot, take care of this.”

“I’m too _wh_ – you! You’re _helping_ him?!”

Talbot also stepped out of the tank, though much less adamantly than her boss. She carried, both in the face and in the shoulders, the repressed posture of someone who was about to be screamed at by someone with the last name Ross. “Betty, sweetie–”

“Don’t you _sweetie_ me!” she growled, through gritted teeth, so angry her skin had started going red. Talbot reached out to her, but she pulled away as well. “You know this is wrong, Glenn! You need to do something!”

“That man is dangerous, Betty. He’s a killer”, Talbot argued.

“What the hell do you people think you do for a living?!”

“That’s not – listen –”

But she wasn’t. Not anymore. Her eyes had turned towards the library where, just then, Bruce had reached the overpass between the two sides of the building. He had figured out – at perhaps the peak of his naivety – that maybe if he could miss them for a couple of minutes, just enough to calm down, maybe he…maybe there was a chance he could still…

On his ear, Ricky was screaming, rambling incoherently. “Bruce! Bruce, I’m – I’ve been doing research, I’ve – tracking the IP address – B, I know – I think I know who Mr. Blue i–” he shouted, but his feed was cut shot, the earpiece knocked out of Bruce’s ear when he stepped onto the overpass, tumbling on his own feet in an attempt at ducking away from the several green dots pointing towards him from the snipers in the nearby windows. The soldiers had caught up to him in front, from the rear and the sides. Over the comms, Ross instructed them to throw in the gas canisters.

But knock-out gas wasn’t gonna do any good.

By then, his heartbeat had reached its maximum. Bruce felt to his knees, feeling the blood pumping on his ears, sight turvy – the world unfolding and dancing before his eyes, but still good enough to spot, through the glass, the image of Betty screaming for him.

Betty.

The thought of her was the last on his mind before it went blank, consumed by his pain, his rage – pouring out of him violently, an anger too big for its vessel. It tore itself through him in the shape of muscles that grew two, three, five times their normal size; a roar ripped through him, shattering the glass of the overpass on its way. A single word that echoed through the campus.

_Betty_.

The rest of his clothes were torn off, the fabric giving away as his muscles grew, flesh ripping and changing at a fast pace. When he stood up again, there were no traces of Banner left – just a ranging green beast, a monstrous hulk that broke through the structures of its way as though they were made out of paper.

It jumped down, the earth quaking under its feet; Betty struggled to free herself from Glenn's grip, more worried than scared at that point – for Bruce? Or for the hundred or so of armed men who had the stupidity to try and stand in his way? She wasn't entirely sure.

Her father seemed certain of their victory. “Alpha team? Let him have it. All of it”, he instructed.

The men turned their machine guns to it, a rain of bullets much like the one that seemed to be brewing in the horizon; they, however, bounced off of the beast, as effective as if they had thrown paper balls. Still, they rolled out, seemly popping out of the ground, their 50-caliber guns shooting feverishly.

“You’re gonna kill them”, Betty shouted. “You’re gonna kill all of them. Is this what you want?”

But Ross wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued on the rampaging green monster as it slammed itself against one of the army’s cars, sending it spinning out of control. Another tank had an even worst luck; it was stopped, dead on its track, as the hulk jumped in front of it. The soldiers inside barely had time to evacuate before they were being lift up and slammed onto their comrades, who – despite the obvious threat – insisted on keep shooting.

_Maybe there is a weak spot_ , they thought, fingers shaking as they pulled the trigger. _Maybe if I am it right; maybe I can be a hero._

The thing about heroes, though, is that most of them end up dead.

The creature pulled the motor out of the wreckage of the car and hauled it across the campus and into the other tanks parked from afar, smashing through them in the most explosive domino effect most of them had ever seen. The fire grew into the field, consuming everything in its path, forcing most men to retreat.

Most men...but not Blonsky.

“Blonsky? Emil, what the hell are you doing?” Ross shouted through the comms, as he spotted the commander stepping into the field. By then, almost every person with a cellphone in town had come out of their holes, recording the scene from all angles, but Blonsky didn’t seem to mind.

He had a grenade launcher at hand and a whole lot of conviction.

“So that’s what you look like?” he said, almost with a laugh. He stepped into the hulk’s field of vision, firing a grenade at it. “An ugly ass bloke, aren’t ya?”

The explosion hit the creature in the back – and it stung. It turned around, just to receive another grenade in the chest, pushing it a couple of feet back. Before another one could come flying towards its face, the hulk grabbed pieces of the broken car, shielding itself with them.

It didn't really hurt. Just made him angrier.

“Come on, you ugly sod, show me what you can do”, Blonsky taunted. He shot his last grenade and cast the weapon aside, somersaulting over the creature just before it could pay the blow back.

“What the hell is he doing?” Talbot asked, a thought shared by all of those around her.

The years of training had made him agile; years of fighting had made him quick on his feet, thinking fast, always on step ahead. Banner – the creature – the hulk used the car parts as blades, swinging them around at him, but he managed to dodge him just in time, sometimes missing by a hair. Jumping over it or sliding between its legs, Blonsky shot at it with the dart gun Ross had given him, but not even its teeth seemed penetrable.

“Move it towards the cannons!” he heard Ross shout in his earpiece, while Blonsky crawled out from being slashed in half by the makeshift guillotine. Running didn't seem like such a bad plan.

He took off, as fast as he could, the beast quickly gaining in on him; its growls sent a chill down his spine, but he didn't dare to look back. How in hell was a thing that size so freaking fast?

The sonic cannons rolled out, blasting high-pitched waves towards them. Blonsky rolled out of the way and into the grass, covering his ears before his eardrums were blown out. The hulk was not as fast.

It took the blast head-on, the impact forcing it into its knees. It rolled out a growl of agony as it dropped its shield, trying to cover its ears from the deafening noise. It seemed, at last, that it would work; the boom cannons would stop its rampant even, judging by the way its skin had begun to peel, if it meant in death.

“Stop! Stop it!” she begged, freeing herself from Glenn’s grip. She ran to her father, grabbing his clothes while his men tried to tear her away from him. “Please don’t do this! Please! You’re killing him! Stop!”

Ross tried silencing him, but her screams continued, calling out for Bruce’s name. the sound of her voice attracted the attention of the creature; it turned towards her, and for a brief second their eyes met.

In that moment, the hulk knew what it had to do.

It pulled itself up, much to Ross’ absolute horror and dismay, and grabbed the car doors back. Using one as a shield, it hurled the other towards one of the cannons, slicing it in half; the other was crushed when it leaped and smashed into it. It roared and turned its eyes to Ross.

“Where is – where is the damn gunship?” the General asked, as soon as the beast took the first step towards them.

Before it could come closer, its attention was averted by some more shooting. Blonsky had also gotten back on his feet, grabbing the riffle from the nearest fallen soldier and unloading it all on the unamused hulk.

“Is that it?” he asked, defiantly.

“Don’t do this, you idiot. Pull back”, Ross commanded, but Emil had already taken off his earpiece. He was staring up at this thing – this gigantic mass of muscle, its hot and angry breath hitting him in the face in a way that made his eyes water.

“Is that all you got?” Blonsky dared, with a cheeky smile.

The beast didn’t answer.

Instead, it just kicked him in the chest, sending his body flying into the nearest tree.

The stunned horror of hearing Blonsky groaned, his members aligned at the weirdest angles, only lasted long enough for Ross to snap back into reality. “Fall back”, he shouted to his men. “Find cover!”

“Betty, come on”, Glenn said, and she tried to pull her towards the back of the campus, but Betty moved away.

Against her father’s orders, she walked towards the hulk. Even from afar, she could see a glimmer in its eyes – a hint that maybe Banner was not entirely gone. She reached out her hand to him, hesitant. Nearby, her father – with his back turned to her – ordered the airship to fire on sight.

Much like the hulk, they did not think twice.

It caught up to their approach, the sound of the helicopter blade passing the trees ringing in its ear. There was only enough time for it to position itself between the firing and Betty, wrapping its arms around her as the blasts cut through the air, blowing everything around them.

“General! General, you need to stop this! ROSS!” Talbot screamed past the noise, running to him, any hint of composure still left dropped. Thaddeus turned, perhaps a second too late, but by then he already knew what the hint of desperation in her voice meant.

_No_ , he whispered, more to himself than to her; but it wasn’t denying her request, it was… panic, perhaps, the same guttural fear that took him over when he first saw the creature, while clutching Betty’s lifeless body.

Now there they were again, a year later, the positions inverted – so much so it begged the question: which one of them was the monster?

“Cease fire!” He shouted. “Cease fire, goddamn it!”

The airship got the message almost at the same time they saw a car door speeding towards then, flung at their cannons by the hulk; it sliced the chopper in half, sending the debris down to the ground on balls of metal and fire; the blades, first to fall, missed the beast by inches.  
Thunder lit up the sky, and the heavy clouds above unleashed the rain it had been threatening the campus with. Ross fell to his knees, praying in a way he could not remember ever doing before.

For a miracle… or for forgiveness.

When the smoke cleared, the hulk was the last thing standing. It had Betty – passed out? Dead? – in its arms. Despite the rain, it found Ross’ gaze and locked eyes with him, his anger conveyed in the way it bared its teeth… And by the tears that not even the drops of water could mask.

Then it jumped, upwards, into the safety of the sky.

 

* * *

 

Hurt by the blast and the fire, the hulk could not go for much longer - it crashed into the woods, probably not far from Culver. Or maybe it was. Maybe they weren’t even on America anymore. It was hard to say.

It placed Betty gently near a waterfall, before rolling out next to her, moaning in pain. It changed, much slower than usual, back into Banner, whose body felt like it had gone through a meat grinder.

Not the first time, but definitely, _definitely_ never this badly.

He crawled up to Betty. She was breathing – faintly, but was. He stayed there, letting the rain wash over them, until things got better.

Would they get better, though? That was the one true question. So far, it seemed everything was spiraling much faster than any of them could predict.

“Bruce?” she called, softly. 

“I’m here. I’m here, it’s okay”, he assured, holding her hand. When she tried to sit up, he stopped her. “Don’t. Not yet. You’re still weak.”

“What – what happened?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t remember much when I, uh, turn. I remember –” he closed his eyes for a moment. The flashes of fire and destruction flooded his brain. “– things didn’t end well.”

“That’s a given, at this point”, she chuckled, and against his insistence, sat up anyway. “What do we do now?”

Bruce sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve ran out of options at this point. I can’t go back; I have _nowhere_ to go back to. The formula – finding the formula was my last shot at a cure. I can’t reconstruct it from memory, and the person helping me says they can’t do much without it, so…”

“There’s someone helping you?”

“Yes. He goes by Mr. Blue. A scientist. We’ve been trying treatments – herbs, blood tests… but it’s useless. It’s completely useless.”

“You could have tried talking to me. I could’ve tried to help.”

“I couldn’t even – I can’t even look at you.”

“Bruce, what happened…” she reached out to him, brushing his cheek with her hand. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was _my_ formula, Bets.”

“That we _all_ worked on. We could not have predicted that happening.”

“ _I_ should have. I had the science, I should have thought ahead –”

“Okay, enough”, she said, pulling away from him. She knew if she allowed it, he would wallow on it for all of eternity. “Your pity party isn’t gonna take us anywhere.”

“I’m not - it’s not a pity party!”

“What do you call it, then?”

“Guilt!” He said, standing up, even if his bones didn’t want to. “I killed one of my best friends, crippled my student, and I thought – I thought I had killed you!”

“Yeah, Bruce. I’m aware of all of that. But where has all this guilt taken you?” she asked, folding her arms. “How has it helped?’

"It fuels my transformations whenever I need to escape one of your father’s goons trying to _shoot_ me in the _head_!”

They stared at each other, nose to nose, squinting – almost trying to see which one would blink first.

Betty was the first to crack a smile, looking away. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too”, he said, wrapping his arms around her.

It was the kind of hug that they both felt could last forever – a hug with a hundred things left unspoken, a year of life separated. They clung to one another, through the pain and the aching (both physical or otherwise), until the rain had ran is course and they were left with nothing but the distant sound of chirping from grasshoppers.

“I thought I’d never see you again”, she whispered, her nose pressed against the curve of his neck. “I thought –”

 “I know”, he said, stroking her hair. He pulled back, enough that they could look at each other again; Betty still had the most beautiful eyes of anyone he’d ever seen. He had asked himself, a thousand times, if he would never see them again.

By instinct, he leaned in closer for a kiss, but she pulled away. “No, Bruce.”

“I’m sorry, I just –”

“I know. I know”, she took his hand, gently, her lips curled up into a fine line. “But it – it’s not like that anymore.”

“It could be. _We_ could be.”

She shook her head. “I love you, Bruce –”

“And I love you! So why –”

“Let me finish”, she interrupted. “I love you. And I will always love you. But I’m not _in love_ with you anymore. Our lives took different routes even before the accident. You know that.”

“I do.”

The words of Ricky came back to him – and maybe he was right. Maybe Bruce wasn’t an adjusted person. Maybe he should have taken better care of what they had; or at least not take it for granted. It didn’t matter now, anyway. All that mattered was that she was happy.

“Does she make you happy?” he asked, just to be sure.

“She does”, Betty answered, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She was trying to hold back a smile. “She really does.”

“You never introduced us.”

“So you could swap awkward stories about me? I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“You don’ have any awkward stories”, he laughed, as the two of them set by a tree. “You’re perfect.”

“It’s not what Glenn thinks. She thinks I’m… bossy”, Betty said, resting her head against his shoulder. “But in a good way.”

It took him a second, but he realized the context of what she meant. His face turned red.

At least in that he and Talbot agreed.

“How did that happen, by the way? An office party seems unlikely.”

“It’s complicated”, she sighed.

It wasn’t, actually, that complicated, but Betty didn’t want to tell him they had met through the intervention of a friend – that is, to say, Bruce’s cousin Jennifer, who had convinced Betty that the best way to get over the break-up was going on a rebound, so she had cordially invited her to a happy hour on a bar near her new job. Jen was hardly the kind of person to socialize, but her therapist had insisted she came out of her shell more often, so they combined both things.

She had locked eyes with Glenn the moment she walked in, and though they both had companions for the evening, they kept stealing glances from across the bar – up until Betty excused herself to go to the restroom, and Talbot followed.

That reminded Betty she still had to apologize for ditching Jennifer that night, but she was sure it wasn’t the first time that had happened to Jen.

Of course, they didn’t know who the other one was when it happened; that only came on the morning after. Glenn had spent the three weeks that followed scared that she was gonna get court-martialed for sleeping with her boss’ daughter. Betty had tried to convince her it was okay, but to be completely honest, she wasn’t sure her father couldn’t do it.

The world was already so goddamn weird, you know?

They sat in silence for the longest time, basking on that hollowed quietness that comes with staring into the unknown as the last drops of rain drizzles away, leaving behind nothing but the vastness of the night sky. There was always the nagging feeling that they should be doing something – running, maybe, or just…not standing still for so long – but they were tired, and their lungs were aching, and maybe, just maybe, Bruce was allowed a moment of peace.

If only they could stay there forever - Adam and Eve, untouched by civilization; or at least like that movie with Brooke Shields where she is trapped in an island and manages to not die from even the most basic diseases.

But paradises are reserved for those who can afford it, and with a ticking time bomb inside of him, Bruce couldn’t hope to find ease of mind. He would never admit, but part of him was… disappointed that Ross’ forces had not managed to kill him at last. Put an end to his misery.  
Better than being a guinea pig for the rest of his life. The only consolation he had was that at least Ross hadn’t managed to make the formula work.

At least not yet.

 

* * *

 

**MEDICAL CENTER, MILITARY BASE, NEW JERSEY.**

While Bruce and Betty fell on an exhausted sleep, somewhere far from their hiding spot the General was hard at work – as were other forces conspiring against the dynamic duo.  
Ross was, to be more precise, pacing back and forth on a hospital room. His men had managed to scrape whatever was left of Blonsky off of the tree he had been knocked into, and had spent the last couple of hours putting him back together. _Trying_ , anyway.

“He’s had more bones broken than we can count”, explained the specialist, Dr. Perera. “Several of his organs collapsed. The fact that he’s still alive is… honestly, a miracle.”

“He’s resilient. He’s gonna pull through”, Ross assured her.

“I don’t think he _can_ , General. I’m not even entirely sure he _should_.”

“Just keep doing your job, doc. Lemme worry about that.”

“If we could at least transfer him to an appropriated medical facility –”

“No”, the General cut short. “There’s already enough press about it. Taking him to a hospital is just going to make it worse. Whatever your team needs, we can arrange you get.”

The doctor sighed, but agreed – wasn’t like there were many options there, either way. Ross was right, in any case; at least in regards of the press. The footage of early – officially dubbed the “Culver Incident” – was already all over the internet by the time they were done leaving the campus. Every single media outlet in the country (and beyond) was running the story, each raising more questions than the other. _What was that thing?_ , was the most asked question, followed by _how long has the government known of its existence?_

Conspiracy theorists were going insane. A couple had even managed to link it back to the _previous_ Culver Incident, and that was getting traction fast. They had an ‘insider’ apparently, which Ross was sure was the annoying intern that Banner had chasing around him around campus like a lovesick puppy when he worked there. What was his name again? Johnson? Jones?

It was a miracle Betty’s name had not been involved – she was ‘unidentified woman’ so far, but that was mostly due to their interference, and even that wouldn’t last much longer. Talbot had been on the phone since before their jet was on the air, trying to smother the fire.

She wasn’t doing a bad job _per se_ , but it was roughly the equivalent of stopping a forest fire one bucket of water at a time.

He could see her occasionally passing in front of the room, flailing her arms nervously. They were both competing to see who was gonna have a mental breakdown first;  
neither had spoken about Betty, though both wanted to. Ross had put his team to track down the gamma signature coming off of Banner, but it would take hours to pinpoint it again – even then, how many of his men would be willing to go toe-to-toe with that…that thing again?

Ross’ only hope was that Betty was safe. She needed to be – had to be. He would not… He wouldn’t hurt her. Not her.

Right?

Focusing on Blonsky’s problem at least helped keep his mind away from her. It was the only way he could hold onto whatever sliver of sanity he had left. He was not exactly fond of running from his problems, but maybe a light jogging wouldn’t be that bad.

He had almost drilled a hole on the floor with his feet, moving back and forth while watching doctors and nurses coming in and out of the room, each with a different varying look of desperation, from mild to extreme. The specialist was the last to come out, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

“We’ve done all we can for now. He’s sedated – if we induce a coma, he may not wake up. Best to let him rest”, she said. “You should, too, sir.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead, doc.”

“Doesn’t mean you should try speeding up the process. Besides…” she looked over his shoulder, to the waiting area, where Talbot was sitting with her head on her hands. “I get the feeling your people need you. There’s nothing more to be done.”

The doctor tapped him in the shoulder and left. With one last look, he turned away from the room as well, heading to where Talbot was.

“Glenn, come with me”, he said.

She jolted up, wide-eyed and alert. “Yes, sir. What is the assignment?”

“No assignment. Let’s have a coffee, and…and talk.”

Talbot beamed him what he assumed was the first genuine smile she had ever given him, which – all things considered – would not be that surprising. They headed out of the medical compound and back into the base, leaving behind only the nurse to watch over the patient.

The nurse, however, was very much entailed on whatever was happening on the screen of her cell phone, and seemed almost completely unaware of the presence of a doctor arriving a couple of minutes after the General had left, rolling in a wheelchair into the room.

The door closed with a click behind him as Samuel Sterns stepped in, quiet as a mouse. He pulled down his mask to make his face visible as he used the syringe he’d brought along to jumpstart Blonsky’s heart.

The other man woke up startled, and the only reason he didn’t start screaming was that his whole body had been plastered, saved for the little window for his eyes. Nevertheless, his vitals were going up crazy, and soon enough the real doors would come in.

Not that Sterns wasn’t a real doctor. He had a PhD, too.

But he wasn’t that kind of doctor.

“Hey, hey, relax! I’m doctor Sterns. I’m here to help you”, he assured him, even though the emaciated face of someone who probably hadn’t slept in several weeks was hardly one to comfort someone in Blonsky’s situation, especially because Sterns was still holding the syringe.

Still, Emil recognized who the man was, from the brief moment he had seen him days earlier. Not that he would admit it in his life, but sometimes it paid off to listen to whatever nonsense Talbot was saying.

“By the looks of it, you had an encounter with Bruce Banner”, he continued, almost joyful. “Banner ruined my life as well – though obviously not in the same way. Point is that I can help you. Put you back together properly; not by duct tape, like they did here. I can make you go up against Banner again and _win_. Blink twice if you want my help, or once if you want me to put you back on the morphine.”

Blonsky hesitated. Every inch of his body was hurting with pain he didn’t know a human being was capable of feeling, but Sterns’ promises sounded as hollow as that of a politician’s; and he had met his fair share of them through the years. Still, he knew how the government of that country operated – if someone could do it, they could, and as usual their prey was those who couldn’t help themselves.

He blinked twice, and the smile on Sterns’ face grew.

 

* * *

 

**SOMEWHERE IN INDIANA.**

Bruce woke up to the sound of birds chirping, which in itself was something he had grown used to at this point; though usually he found himself rolling in dirt somewhere dark and uncomfortable, and almost always alone.

That not being the case this time was a delightful surprise.

What was also a surprise was seeing Betty crouched over the grass, scratching her chin and drawing equations on it with a twig she found nearby. She barely even registered him approaching.

“What… exactly are you doing?” he asked, looking over her shoulder.

“I’m trying to remember your formula, so we can try to reverse-engineer it.”

“Betty, I’ve looked at that formula seven hundred times. Not even I could reconstruct it from memory – I’ve tried.”

“Except”, she said, pointing her twig at him. “I have an eidetic memory.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. But it’s still better than yours! Most days you couldn’t even remember what you ate for breakfast.”

“Okay, that sounds like an exaggeration –”

“Does it, though?” she squinted. “Remember that time you spent two weeks without talking to me, including during my birthday, because you were neck-deep on your research?”

“And I apologized for that!”

“A twenty-minute long message of you sobbing and saying sorry. Yeah. That was fun.”

He pouted, kneeling next to her. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, will you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s fair.”

Maybe he had been a shitty boyfriend, in retrospect.

Not that Ricky needed to hear him admitting that, however.

“Even if we did manage to reconstruct the whole formula, there is no way to know for sure what went wrong, or why it affected me this particular way.  I mean – you all were exposed to the explosion, but there were no side-effects for anyone else, right?”

Betty didn’t answer. Her lips curled up.

He frowned. “Betty? Were there any side effects for anyone else?”

“Kind…of?” she grimaced. “Helen, she was…she was one month pregnant, when it happened. She had just told Frank the day before.”

“Oh, God. Oh, no.”

“No, they – it’s fine. The babies are fine. Amadeus and Marie Curie, they are called. But they were born premature. We don’t know if it was because of the accident or due to stress or–”

“Oh, shit. Oh, God. I really fucked up their family, didn’t it?” he whimpered, hiding his face on his hands.

“Helen doesn’t blame you for what happened”, Betty assured him, placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. “She wanted you – us – to be the kids’ godparents. Still does.”

“So between this and putting you in the hospital and what happened to Ricky –”

“There is even more reason to find a cure.”

Her optimism, while welcome, continued not to do much to make him feel any better. Even if he found a solution, there wasn’t exactly a way to turn back time and make everything better, now, was there?

Maybe he ought to have focused his studies on time travel rather than curing cancer.

“Aside from this, there were no other side effects?” he asked.

“No. Sometimes I feel like you took the full blast for us.”

“I should have died that day. I still don’t understand how I didn’t. It just – it doesn’t make any sense. The calculations being off, the machine overcharging, me being the only one affected…why me? Why am I the only one changing?”

“Well, you _did_ take the full blast, B. And the gamma rays were supposed to mutate your cells.”

“Regeneration them, not… not this.”

“But they are being regenerated, aren’t they? And evolving at that.”

“Yeah, but how? And why? Why like this – why use anger as a trigger? Why not, I don’t know, exposition to UV rays? It could’ve been anything. Why _this_ , completely out of my control?”

Betty stared at him, her eyes widening. For a moment he was scared she was about to have a stroke. “A trigger”, she repeated, in a lower tone. “That’s it.”

“What?”

“Yes! It makes sense!” She jumped back to her feet. Betty’s face had lit up like a Christmas tree, and Bruce knew she had just been struck by a bolt of genius. “I know – Bruce, I know how to help you!”

He shook his head, a little taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“The solution, it – obviously, I should’ve thought about it before. I need to make a phone call. Do you have any idea where we are?”

“Somewhere very wet. Are you gonna let me in on your secret or –”

“I will. I just… I need to speak with someone first. I need to go into town.”

“What about your phone?”

“I left it back at my office.”

“And your burner phone?” Betty always had a burner phone because her had had her main line tracked down, since he was a controlling, paranoid, gun-obsessed maniac who didn’t let her live her life away from his leash.

Bruce still remembered getting frisked whenever they went to visit her parents on the holidays. Not exactly fun to have your father-in-law getting handsy with your genitals.

He had searched through places not even Betty had had access to, despite how much she had asked for it.

“I left it there, too. I wasn’t exactly prepped up to get kidnapped.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t kidnap you.”

“Well, I mean, technically…”

“What? I didn’t!”

“I would have come with you even if I hadn’t passed out. That’s not the point at the moment. There is someone that can help you… if I can convince him.”

 

* * *

 

The forest they had gotten stranded in was not much further away from Culver – the state park near Lake Michigan, judging by the looks of it. Betty found a trail that led her back to the closest thing they could call of civilization, while Bruce waited for her at the edge of the park; for no reason other than the fact that his pants were stretched beyond their limit and seeing a hot guy strolling around naked would draw in more attention to themselves than they would want at that moment.

Not that Betty was much better herself. The rain hadn’t washed away most of the dirt just yet, and the fire had burned roles in several parts of her clothes. But maybe that could be used to her advantage.

She wandered into the first diner she found, trying to look as disoriented as she could. Not exactly hard, all things considered.

“Miss? Miss, are you okay?” the man behind the counter asked, practically hopping over it to reach her.

“Yeah, I was – my car – I had an accident”, she lied, rubbing her face.

“Do you need any help? Want me to call you a doctor?”

“Can I use your phone?”

“Of course, but – you sure you don’t want any help?”

“Just the phone, thanks.”

She could see his eyes trailing after her while she went to the corner of the room, pressing the phone against her ear. It was a good thing she could remember the phone number she wanted, since she probably wouldn’t find it in the yellow pages.

And Bruce said she didn’t have an eidetic memory, pfft.

“Who is this?” asked the man in the other end of the line, clearly startled.

“It’s Betty.”

“Betty whom?”

“Betty Ross. How many other Bettys do you know?”

“How do you know you’re the real deal?”

“As opposed to what? Those little green aliens you say are _body snatching_ people?”

“Okay, _first of all_ , they are not _little_. And second of all, they are real, and they are called the Sk–”

“Yes, yes, Leo. I know. You’ve told me a hundred million times. But that’s not why I’m calling you.”

The man went quiet for a moment, but it seemed that Betty’s answer had satisfied him. “How can I help you, Bets?”

“I’m on the lam. I need your help. Can you send a chopper to pick me up?”

“Sounds intriguing. I can be there in twenty.”

“I’m with Bruce.”

“Let’s make it a ten, then.”

Betty hung up, allowing herself a brief sigh of relief. She thanked the man behind the counter, whose eyes had drifted to the television. Just then, a news report of the Culver Incident came on, with a picture of Bruce and Betty attached to it.

“Hey, miss, aren’t-” he started, but when he looked over, she was gone.

 

* * *

 

The nurse outside of the room didn't seem to pay much attention to the 'doctor' rolling a fully-plastered patient out of the room, even though her orders had told her to keep an eye out for any kind of suspicious movement – but just then there was another news report coming in about the Culver Incident, and since nobody at the base was talking about it, she needed to get all the information she could through other means.

Not that Sterns was complaining about the lax security, mind you.

Under his surgical mask, he whistled a note to himself, pushing Blonsky further away from the more populated areas of the base. It was a good thing that the soldiers were readying themselves for another attack on Banner; fruitless, probably, but who was he to stand in the way of a bunch of suicidal men?

Sterns, on the other hand, was aiming for somewhere a little closer – to be more precise, the old barracks in the back of the base. They had been there since before World War II, and many believed to be the birthplace of Captain America. The government would never admit that their Sentinel of Liberty had been cocooned in a place like Jersey City, but the truth was out there, and Samuel was ready to unlock it.

But the barracks had been ‘out of commission’ for some years now, due to either gas leaks or rodents or both. Nobody knew the motive exactly, but nobody went there unless they were looking for a nice parking spot.

The worst part is that the parking there wasn’t even nice.

As they approached, Sterns pulled out a set of keys. “You must be wondering how I got a hold of these”, he said, but by the look on Blonsky’s eyes he wasn’t, really. “People here see me as little more than an errands boy, kept around by the grace of our gracious General; they don’t see me as a person, they see me as a tool…but I hear them, and I see them, the things they wouldn’t want _other_ people to see. Sometimes the things I learn come…very much in handy.”

It was hard to say if the excruciating expression on Blonsky was because of the pain or the monologue.

He unlocked the door and rolled Emil into what once had been a lab, though the place had long since lost whatever glory it held, now nothing but a dusty and decrepit basement of sorts. Sterns had done what he could by repairing the machine and occasionally stealing – well, in his words, ‘borrowing without asking’ – equipment from the labs, by the place still looked like an evil scientist’s lair.

Well, in retrospect, maybe that was the intention.

Blonsky noticed, in one of the tables, a set of vials, some of which were labels ‘Mr. Green’.

“Now, before we start, I have to warn you, what I’m gonna put you through is going to hurt. A lot. Probably not as much as getting your spine broken into several pieces like it is currently, but nonetheless.” He reached into one of the tables, for a syringe full of a purple liquid. The needle looked thick enough to pierce through Blonsky’s cast. “Are you sure you want to proceed?”

Emil blinked him a yes. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

When pushed into his arm, the liquid inside the syringe burned through his veins like acid and if he could scream, he would’ve exhausted his lungs. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and whatever muscles he still had control over contracted themselves and shivered, the undeniable taste of blood flooding the back of his throat.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Sterns asked, with a grimace. “This is just the first step, though.  An antibiotic of sorts, to stop your body from rejecting what comes next. It’s gonna be a little bit worse before it gets any better.”

_If it gets better_ , he considered adding, but why freak out the patient, right?

With some considerable effort, Sterns managed to roll Blonsky into the operation table. He looked rather funny, all stiff and strapped down, but that was probably not the right moment to laugh. It didn’t stop Samuel from doing it, but it was still not appropriate.

“Now, Banner took on a full blast of Gamma radiation, which is why he can’t control his transformation. You, on the other hand…” he turned on the machine. A dozen spikes were lowered down over Blonsky’s back, ready to inject in with same greenish liquid from the ‘Mr. Green’ vials. “Is gonna be a more concentrated dosage.”

The machine came down on him with a vengeance, and once again it was a good thing he couldn’t scream.

 

* * *

 

**AN UNDISCLOSED SOMEWHERE ELSE, LATER.**

Bruce was still confused by the whole situation. Betty saying she knew someone that could help, followed by a helicopter that looked almost black ops – with a pilot of few words, hiding behind a pair of mirrored shades – didn’t help much.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Who is this guy, anyway?”

“A friend. An old friend.”

“Wait. Old friend as in a friend who is old or someone you’ve known for a while?’

"The latter.”

“Do I know him?”

“You should, but probably not.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry. Seems we are almost there.”

Looking out of the helicopter, Bruce saw the sights changing underneath him. They had moved away to much greener pastures – though how far off they were was hard to say. There were no houses or roads for miles; nothing but grass for miles and miles, with the occasional cow munching around. Wild cow? Were there such thing as wild cows?

“Where exactly does this friend of yours live?” He asked, a little worried. Not that he didn’t trust Betty. He just… had a little problem trusting other people.

“A little… away from civilization. He is agoraphobic.”

“He’s afraid of the Spanish word for ‘now’?”

“No, that’s not –”

“It’s a joke. I _know_ what agoraphobic means, Betty. I have –”

“Seven PhDs, yes. We _all_ know that”, she groaned, smacking him in the shoulder.

The helicopter approached a hill, a house came into view. Well, not a house - it looked much more like a small fortress, contrasting so widely against the colorful background, it stuck out like a sore thumb. It was dark and somber, with high electrified walls that shielded it from the outside world. Bruce half expected to see lightning flash in the background, like a villain’s lair.

“He’s a little weird, but he’s a nice person, so be nice”, Betty urged, as they disembarked the chopper.

“Wait. When am I 'not nice’?” Bruce asked, trying (and failing) not to sound offended.

They were greeted outside by a figure detached from the mental figure Bruce had just built: it was not, in fact, a 70-year-old man with a Dumbledore-like beard wearing a see-through bathrobe, but a blonde guy, about their age, with what could barely pass as a beard and his hair in a ponytail. The fact that he was wearing khakis and a floral shirt, with a martini glass in one hand, also didn’t match with the environment.

“Betty Bop! It’s been too long”, he said, with a large smile. He didn’t move to hug her, and she made no motion of it, either. “And you must be the famed Bruce Banner.”

“Last I checked, yeah”, Bruce said. The clothes the pilot had brought to him before boarding were one side too small, and they kept itching in all the wrong places.

The man squinted. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What? I mean – I was just –”

“I forgot to mention, he’s… also a little paranoid”, Betty whispered, leaning closer to him.

Not that the man couldn’t hear, of course. “I am _not_ paranoid, Elizabeth. I am just hyper-aware of all the things other people don’t care to know about.”

“So, like I said, paranoid.”

“Sorry, I haven’t got your name”, Bruce butted in, feeling a little othered in their banter.  
“Betty hasn’t told you about me? The name is Leonard Skivorski. You can call me Samson. Shall we go in?”

He turned over, towards the actual house – made, it seemed, almost entirely out of tinted windows; the guy clearly liked to see but not being seen - but Bruce hung back a little.  
“Wait. WAIT. You’re Dr. Samson? I _know_ you. I’ve read one of your papers, that one. The psychotherapy one.”

“The use of psychotherapy and hypnosis as a way to indoctrinate felons?” Samson asked, with a smirk.

“Yes! That one! _Pleasant Hill_ , right?”

“Still my most talked about article, and not even my most outlandish one”, he scoffed, but one could see he was beaming a little with pride.

“You never told me you were friends with him!” Bruce said, poking Betty in the ribs.

She squinted, somewhere halfway between angry and resigned. “I _did_. Several times. I _made_ you read that article.”

“Oh, yeah.”

So he _had_ been a shitty boyfriend, after all.

They went into the house. It looked…almost normal, all things considered. Then again, he didn’t know what he was expecting at that point – artistry of naked people? Pictures of clowns? Post-modern furniture? An altar to Freud? Maybe a little of all?  
It just looked like the house of an obscenely rich guy who was really into flat tones, which was somehow even more distressing. The walls were made of the same glass as the windows, opaque enough that one could see through them, but also enough to give privacy when privacy was needed.

“How did you two even meet, anyway?” he asked.

“In high school”, she said.

“What? I thought you went to an all-girls boarding school.”

She nodded. Samson, who had taken the moment to circle around the room towards his drink cabinet, gave him a cheeky grin.

It took a second or two for the other shoe to drop. “Oh. _Oh_. Alright.”

“My parents thought it would help to make me more feminine and with my discomfort around people”, he said, pouring himself a drink. “Needless to say, it was a whole lot of money wasted. I met Betty, though, so not a total loss. We outcasts gravitated towards each other.”

“ _You_ were an outcast?” Bruce asked, to Betty. “Now that is hard to believe.”

“Not really. Once the other girls found out I was also into girls, they were all suddenly very uncomfortable with my presence.”

“Right. Because the world is a nightmare. I keep forgetting that.”

“Would you like to drink something?” Samson asked. “Wine? Gin? Vodka?”

“I don’t – I don’t really drink, thanks.”

“Ooh, uptight. Let me guess – you don’t drink, you don’t smoke, you don’t copulate with the lights on? Sounds like some daddy issues you need to work through.”

“What? No! I mean, I – no, it’s just…”

“Bruce, relax”, Betty urged, her arms folded tightly. “He always says that about everything.”

“And I’m almost always right”, he sneered, nudging his glass towards her. It looked to be filled with absinthe, which he donned all down in one go.

“But not for the reasons you think.”

He shrugged. “You say tomato, I say potato.”

“So, can you help me?” Bruce asked, interrupting their bickering. Watching them made Bruce feel like overhearing an old married couple. It reminded him of all the times he had to third-wheel Frank and Helen before they realized they were into each other.

The longest three years of his life, and that was counting this one.

“Of course I can help you”, Leonard rolled eyes.

“ _Will_ you help him?” Betty reiterated.

“ _Yes_ , Elizabeth. No need to measure your words, I’m not trying to steal your firstborn child.”

“I don’t think I can actually pay right now,” Bruce said. “That may be the only thing I have to offer.”

“Oh, not to worry, I’m not gonna charge you”, he assured, taking another gulp of his drink. Wait, when had he refilled that? “You being here is payment enough for now. I’ve been an avid follower of your, uh, let’s call it _trajectory._ I’ve been fascinated by the whole thing ever since the rumors and pictures of you started popping into the forums – unlike the others, I connected the dots fairly early on about your identity. They were too concerned on whether or not you were an extraterrestrial to see the truth. I cannot tell you how many photos of your… _body parts_ were examined trying to determine what it meant for the reproduction of your species. As a side note, I’d suggest you wearing stretchier pants from now. Just in case.”

“I _don’t_ expect to turn again. That’s why we came here”, Bruce managed to say, with whatever little voice he managed to muster. The thought of people seeing him naked had never dawned on him until this very horrifying moment.

“Obviously, yes. But better safe than sorry”, Leonard shrugged.

“So you were expecting us?” Betty asked. She had, somehow, found the strength not to laugh.

“For the last few months, yes. I figured you would need my help desperately.”

“Why didn’t you just _call_ me?” she asked.

“Because there was no way to know if the call wouldn’t be intercepted or recorded, Elizabeth. You and I both know how uncle Thad. Best to let _you_ contact _me_ first. Now, shall we start, or would you two like to freshen up first?”

“The sooner the better”, Bruce said, even though he knew he was still covered in mud and sweat and his stomach was grumbling.

“Alright, then. Follow me.”

He moved towards the door next to the fake fireplace. Bruce motioned to follow him. “And you told me he’d need convincing”, he joked. It felt like there was a weight being lifted off of his shoulder.

But it didn’t last long.

Betty hadn’t moved. She was frowning. “He _should_ have”, she said, in a low tone. “I’ve known Leo for _years_. Through highs and lows. When people talk about someone having their walls up, in his case it’s more than just physically. If there is one thing I know is that he never does anything to anyone without making sure he’ll get something in return.”

“So, what? Are you saying we shouldn’t trust him?”

“No. But I think, right now, we can only trust each other.”

She reached out her hand to him and he squeezed it. That was a deal.

“Are you two going to stand there all day gossiping behind my back, or are we going to start?” Leonard asked, popping his head back into the room.

 

* * *

 

Most of the other rooms in the house were shielded away by the same opaque walls; and there were many rooms. So many rooms. Why did that guy need so many rooms? Who did he have over so often that he needed so many goddamn rooms? There were rooms upon rooms upon rooms down two floors. As they walked through the long hallways and staircases, Bruce spotted at least two bathrooms, one kitchen, one library, one swimming pool, and something that resembled a mini-cinema.

“How rich are your parents?” he asked, mildly offended. It was annoying to think that this guy had this much money and he had chosen to tuck it all away into some private nowhereland, when he could be, who knew, funding researches or helping those in need. Maybe he was, but it was still annoying.

Bruce couldn’t even think of what he could've done if he had that kind of money lying around – but he knew he would never have agreed to take the government’s help. Maybe things would’ve been different.

“It’s _not_ my parents’ money”, Leonard countered, grumpily. “It’s _my_ money.”

“Aren’t you a therapist?”

“Yes. For extremely rich people, all who are willing to pay anything to have someone do as much as listen to what they’re thinking about or wishing or wanting to do without getting the cops called on them. It’s an extremely lucrative business.”

“You mean like p-”

“Hollywood producers? Yes. And politicians. And the occasional Talk Show host. The point is that they need someone to open up to, in a safe environment. I provide both.”

“That’s...” he didn’t know exactly what word he wanted to use without sounding offensive. “How do you even sleep at night?”

“Heavily medicated, as one would”, he said, shaking his glass at him without turning around. “And with the knowledge I’ve helped many people over the years – redeemed many souls, if I can say so. Many of my clients are harmless, they just need someone to vent their dark thoughts to. You think of yourself as a monster, Mr. Banner, but you have yet to understand what that word truly means."

Bruce looked over at Betty, who raised her eyebrows at him. He could not begin to imagine the things Doctor Samson had heard, but if it meant he had stopped Senator Kelly from Bumfucksville, Texas, from sleeping with his sister...then maybe it was not that bad.

“I still don’t understand how this is meant to help me, exactly”, Bruce said, trying to stir the conversation into a different direction.

“Very simple, really. For us to understand how to deal with your problem, we need to search for the root of it – where it comes from, beyond your exposure to inhuman levels of Gamma radiation.”

“It’s from anger, actually. We already got that figured out”, Betty said.

“No, sweetheart. Anger is a vocalizer”, Leonard corrected. “You see, men – we are taught that we don’t, or can’t, show emotions, but that’s far from the truth. Men show emotion all the time! When we raise our voices or bang our fists or flip tables. The thing about our feelings is when we feel them, so must everybody else, and they are forced to acknowledge it, with anger being the quickest way to express that without _actually_ expressing it. In your case, Mr. Banner, you just have a…more dangerous way of imposing it.”

“I guess that’s true”, Bruce said, but he wasn’t thinking about himself or his hulk form. He had folded his right arm over his chest, tracing on his right arm the little scar that still remained in there to this day; it was one of the many that didn’t go away regardless of how many times he shifted, from a past he had tried to put as far away from himself as he could.

Some things are not meant to be forgotten, it seemed.

“We’re here”, Samson said, as they stopped in front of the only non-glass door in the whole house. It looked more like a vault lock.

“Is that your panic room?” Bruce asked.

“Do you think I would lead _you_ into my panic room?”

“Fair enough.”

“This is my sensory deprivation chamber.”

“This is your – why? Why would you even have that?”

“For fun, mostly. It’s how I've kept myself from strangling my father every time I go home for Passover – but many of my patients feel the need to use it. Exploring one’s mind helps to let go of one’s trauma.”

“Is that how you’re gonna help him?” Betty interjected.

“It’s one of _the_ ways I intend to”, he said. “I could have just sit him in my couch for three days and let him talk about his emotions, but I am of the idea that for some people just venting their frustration is not enough – they need to find ways to address them directly. My little toy here is the best way to do that.”

Leonard pressed his hand on a pad on the door and it scanned his fingerprints; it unlocked a retinal scanner, and then an iris scanner. At that point, Bruce was expecting him to wipe out a blood exam as well.

But no; the door just unlocked and swung backwards, allowing them in.

The next room was such a bright white color that it almost blinded them for a moment – but perhaps that was the intention. It was the kind of oppressive white that made him feel like he was about to be either interrogated or probed by aliens; or worse yet, both. The sensory tank sat at the very center of the room, a high-tech machine kinda shaped like a shoe, coated in a shade of white dark enough to stand out against the rest of the environment, but not enough that it didn’t match with the design. It was dry when they came in, but a couple of buttons were pushed on the panel installed at its side and soon enough the tubes connected to the equipment were flood it with a baby-blue fluid that could almost pass as water, if they didn’t know any better.

Next to the tank, Doctor Samson had installed two shelves: one full of books and notebooks (some of them looking as though they had never been touched before), and another equally packed with bottles and tubes with drinks and pills of the most diverse colors. Most of them were probably not used for medicine.

“Here is how this is going to work”, Leonard said, leaning against his machine. “I’m going to give you a little pill – it’s something I’ve been working on. It’s not patented yet, but I’m working on it. I’m calling it Cathexis. It’s meant to help you…open your mind, so to speak.”

That didn’t sound particularly encouraging. “Are there any side effects I should know about?”

“Not really. I mean… it’s a little like a concentrated dosage of LSD, but it’s not bad or anything. It’s not going to kill you – at least not in ways I can’t revive you. Don’t worry.”

“Now even I’m worried”, Betty said.

“You _shouldn’t_. It’s perfectly safe”, Leonard said, a little offended. “And it’s only the first part. After you take the pill, you will get into the machine. Emerge yourself on it until the drug kicks in. That’s when the actual process begins.”

He circled the room to the medicine cabinet, grabbing a bottle with a number of red pills in it. He popped one out and handed it over to him. “The procedure has different results for each person. Some see things, some hear things. It’s unpredictable. But – whatever way it presents itself to you, you need to be ready for it. More importantly, you need to have a hook.”

“What is that?”

“It’s something – anything – to keep you connected to the real world. A name, a feeling, a person –” Leo’s eyes darted towards Betty, standing a couple of feet behind Bruce. She shifted around, a little uncomfortably. “Whatever that may be, it has to serve to pull you back to the real world. You may not need it, but…some people are tempted. Whatever it is that they see is better than whatever is waiting for them here. Don’t fall into that trap.”

“I won’t”, Bruce assured.

He hoped not, anyway.

Bruce swallowed the pill without water, feeling it down his throat like…well, acid. But the other kind. It tasted awful, despite having a cute little smiley face on it. That was definitely misleading.

“Now you strip down and get into the water. _All_ of it”, he added, when Bruce took off his torn up shirt.

Not that he was wearing much to begin with, but the prospect of stripping down made him feel very self-conscious. Especially now that he knew half of the internet had seen his…hulk junk. “Is that really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Bruce is not really a fan of public exposure”, Betty weighed in. She seemed as alarmed as him.

“So he really doesn’t have sex with the lights on?” Samson joked.

“I didn’t _say_ that.”

Bruce’s face had turned red as a beet. It had only happened once! It wasn’t that big a deal.

“I understand the discomfort, but you have nothing to worry about. Like I have said, this is a safe space”, Samson assured. “Besides, if it’s of any comfort – you’re not really my type, Mr. Banner. Or men in general.”

“Not exactly my issue here, doc”, he said, but complied.

As he stepped into the water, the doctor interrupted him once again. “Before you…embark on your journey, I need you to remember that this might as well be a long shot. In the dark. If it works, it may only work once.”

“And if it doesn’t?” he asked.

“How prone is your Mr. Hyde from drowning?”

“He’s joking. Don’t worry”, Betty intervened.

It didn’t look like he was joking, though.

The water was cold, and it sent shivers running up Bruce’s spine. Betty gave him a thumbs up before he submerged himself into the water and the doors of the tank closed, but it was not exactly comforting.

 

* * *

 

Through the screen on the tank, they watched as Bruce sunk into the water. Betty allowed herself a moment to breathe; despite everything, she knew she had made the right decision. Bruce couldn’t keep running forever, and even if he could, what kind of life would that be? He was barely the man she remembered him as it was: thinner, paler, with bags under his eyes… at some point this insane hunt would catch up to him and not even his other form would be able to get him out.

But if there was someone who could help him – truly, really help him – it would be Leonard. She was just hoping that her faith had not been misplaced.

“How long is this going to take?” she asked.

“That’s up to Bruce now. It’s a trip down Memory Lane – it can take a couple of minutes or a couple of hours. One can only wonder. You should relax in the meantime; take a shower, eat something. I’d assume it’s been a stressful couple of days.”

“You’d assume right”, she admitted. But the aching in her bones was nothing compared to what Bruce had gone through alone for all these months; and once the taste of blood in her mouth had disappeared, things had been easier to manage.

“Then go. I will watch over him. And Betty –“ he paused, biting down his lower lip. “You know you can trust me, right?”

“Of course”, she said, and almost managed to sound convincing. “Speaking of trust, do you have a phone I can use?”

“Who are you going to call? If you say Ghostbusters, I will drown your ex-boyfriend.”

She laughed. “Glenn, actually.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s wise? Does she not still work for your father?”

“Yeah, but she and I have a secure line of contact. I have to at least tell her I’m safe.”

“I have a burner inside of Conditioned Reflexes in that shelf. Feel free to use it.”

“Why would you have a phone hidden there?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ I?”

She ground her teeth. That was a question she couldn’t answer.

Betty took the model – some old, Stark-branded phone that still had buttons – and moved back upstairs. The sun was already setting in the sky outside, but the tall walls didn’t allow her to see much further ahead; a shame. Betty loved to watch the evening sun while it died down, eating ice cream by one of the benches on the campus next to someone she loved. That had been Glenn for the last couple of years.

It hadn’t always been easy. They hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye, but it had been worth it. Betty was hoping Glenn would remember that before doing (or saying) anything.

The phone rang twice, before a breathless voice answered. “Betty?”

“Hi, babe.”

“How are you? _Where_ are you?! I’ve been so worried! Your father –”

“I’m fine”, Betty cut in. “I wasn’t kidnapped or anything. I’m with Bruce.”

“Ah. Right.” She could hear Glenn sigh in exasperation on the other end of the line. “You know, it was always a common fear – almost stereotypical – that the bi girl was gonna leave me for a guy. I never thought it was gonna be something like this.”

“I’m not – I didn’t leave you”, she said, a little exasperated. “But Bruce is my friend, and he needs my help.”

“No offence, sweetie, but in what ways could you possibly help him?”

“Not me, but I know people who can. Who are. I’m actually…” she looked behind her shoulder, just to make sure that Leo wasn’t standing nearby listening in on her. “We’re dealing with this right now. All we need is a little more time.”

Talbot didn’t say anything. Betty felt her heart beating at the back of her neck. “Glenn?” she insisted.

On the other end of the line, Glenn let out a resigned sigh. “Betty…”

“We can do it. We can fix this. I just need my dad to give us a day or two. Then everything is gonna go back to what it was before. I mean it.”

“I know you do”, she said, but Talbot didn’t sound convinced. “But if I tell him I spoke to you…”

“No, don’t – don’t tell him anything. Just try to keep him busy, if you can. At least for a couple of hours.”

“That’s easier said than done, but I’ll try. In the meantime, try to stay safe.”

“Always. I love you.”

The answer on the other end was faint, but at least she said it back.

 

* * *

 

Bruce had regretted taking part in that experiment the moment he closed his eyes.

Well, maybe not straight then – it was fine at first, really, although he had never been able to hear his own thoughts so clearly; that bit was a little terrifying, but he could deal with it. The problem was when the drug finally started to kick in and his eyes started getting heavy.

He closed them for a moment, and that was when all hell broke loose.

For starters, his body felt like he was falling; like when you are falling in a dream and you suddenly jerk yourself awake, except he didn’t. He just kept falling and falling and falling and he couldn’t open his eyes. He wasn’t even entirely sure if he wanted to. There were noises where once was complete silence – voices he recognized, voices he wished he had forgotten.

Some were calling for him, some were talking about him, and all were spit out, as though his name was a curse word. Some were faint. Some were screams. He could not bring himself to stop them, to shut them out.

His body was falling and falling and falling and falling and falling, and he could neither stop it nor slow it down.

But then it landed.

Hard.

The voices were replaced by a humming sound, and when he finally allowed himself to peek on his surroundings, it was just to be hit straight in the face with a cloud of smoke and dust. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest, a sharp pain spreading through his hips and into his back.

Bruce had felt that before. He knew exactly where he was, even before the dust settled.

The scene around him was opaque and off-color, like he was looking through an old polaroid picture. The wrecked machine was behind him, still fuming, while whole pieces of the wall and the ceiling were crumbling, burying everything on their way. At the other side of the room, General Ross was kneeling next to his unconscious daughter, whose head was bleeding.

“Betty!” he called out, reaching for her. His hands were already shaking, growing, changing color. He _also_ knew what was about to happen next.

Ross turned to him, a vein pulsing on his forehead that seemed about to burst open. “What did you do?!”

Bruce tried to make his way towards them, but his feet sunk onto the floor at every step he took, swallowing him whole. He stretched his hand out to her, but it was too late –before he knew it, he was falling down the abyss again.

The trip was shorter this time, though.

He landed on his feet, but now on a completely different scenario. The wreckage of his lab gave space to the greyish walls of his old apartment in Culver; warmer colors, this time, though it still felt like looking through smudged glasses.

Betty was standing a few feet in front of him, with her raincoat on, her hang on the knob of the door. There was the distant sound of thunder outside. “What?” she asked, exasperated.

He opened his mouth to answer, but didn’t know what to say. Or, rather, he did – but the words didn’t come out. Bruce knew what would happen next: by hesitating, he would let her walk away, when he should have told her he was sorry he had forgotten their anniversary, that he would do better, that he wouldn’t lose himself on his work so often. He knew he shouldn’t let her leave, because if she did, that would be the end of their relationship.

Next time they spoke would be three months later, and it would take even longer for them to get back on friendly terms.

“It’s what I thought”, she sighed, before turning back. He went after her, but the door closed on him before he could get to her.

He followed her outside, but suddenly they weren’t in his boring old apartment anymore.

Assaulted by the sudden overflow of color and sound – vibrant, electric, a dozen people speaking all around him – Bruce took a step back. There were teenagers all around him, with their backpacks and their books and their uncomfortable stares, walking down the corridors of his old high school. He was still himself, but the rest of the world had bent itself back to when he was fourteen.

“Are you alright, Bobby? Sorry – I’m sorry – Bruce?" the girl in front of him asked. It was Jennifer, with her big round glasses and the same pitiful stare she had going on for the first summer when he had moved in with auntie, after – after –

_No_ , Bruce whispered to himself. He knew what was coming next. In the eyes of the kids around him, he could see his reflection as they stared down on him; even there, even so far away from home, they knew who he was, they knew what had happened, they knew –

“It’s okay, Bruce”, she said, reaching out to his hand and giving it a little squeeze. “I’m here for you.”

But their eyes were on him, glaring at him, making him feel small. Guilty.

Scared.

Their gazes froze on him and the entire corridor went quiet. No, they weren’t staring at him; they were looking past him, to what was waiting behind him. Bruce knew what he was.

He turned around to look at it, and the school melted away around him, into a new scene.

This one was neither too opaque nor too vivid; it didn’t feel like a memory, even though he knew it was. Did he, though? How could he? It felt real. It felt like he was standing again on the living room of his house, no younger than thirteen, while his mother shuffled around the drawers looking for the car keys.

She was there, just like he remembered her, with the hair all messed up; the same bright brown eyes he remembered. “It’s in the bottom drawer”, he said, but he didn’t sound like a child. He sounded like himself – the himself that knew what was going to happen next.

“Thank you, Bobby”, she said, and she gave him that smile she only had for him. “Now come, let’s get going before your father comes back.”

“It’s too late”, he whispered, but she didn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear the sound of the tires screeching as his father returned from the power plant, already down one too many beers. He’d know they were trying to run away from him.

Bruce knew what happened next – he remembered, the fighting, the screams, the hitting, he clutching his mother’s bloody body on the living room floor while his father was taken in handcuffs. And he couldn’t stop it.

Like clockwork, the door of the house swung open and his father came in. Bruce was forced to stand aside while they fought, watching his father grab the bags from his mother’s hands and throw them away, cursing and accusing her of things she hadn’t done; as he had done for so long, threatened by the life she had outside of him, her friends, her culture, even – especially – her love for their son. Rebecca had stepped in front of one too many beatings meant for Bruce, but there was always enough to spare. Bruce knew that, at one point, Brian Banner would raise his hand, and he would not stop until it was too late.

But…no. Not this time.

When the moment came, Bruce put himself between his parents, and his father hesitated.

“You’re not gonna hurt her. Not anymore”, he said, blocking his view of her.

“And who is gonna stop me? You? You can’t even help yourself”, his father said. Well, it was his father’s voice but the words didn’t sound like his own.

When he went to push him aside, Bruce grabbed his hand and twisted it. “I can, and I will”, he said. He could feel the pumping of blood on his ears, his arm beginning to change.

He could do it, now. He had the strength to do it. Strength he didn’t have before; to stand up for himself. To stand up for others. So that others like him could not live in fear, ever again.

But there were other ways to do it.

Bruce pushed his father back, breathing sharply. He thought back at the hook Leonard had told him to use; that he could not let himself be governed by fear, or anger. There was more to life than being scared.

“You’re gonna leave”, he said. “And you’re gonna leave her alone. Forever.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, boy.”

“Watch me”, he said, shoving him off again.

His father tumbled back and out of the door, into the streets. Bruce kept his eyes on him all the way until he had disappeared down the street, feeling a weight being lifted off his shoulder. Only then he turned to his mother, whose eyes full of tears spoke all the words he wished he had told her before she was gone.

He pulled her into a hug, holding on tight. Maybe – just maybe – if he never let go, that moment would never have to end.

“You did good, Bobby”, she said, pulling back a little to look at him in the eyes. She cupped her hands around his face, a touch as gentle as he remembered it.

“Yeah, I did”, he said, smiling through the tears.

“Bruce?” he heard someone call. When he turned, Betty was waiting for him by the door. She looked as beautiful as the day he had first bumped into her – in her loose stripped shirt, with the same bob haircut.

“Hi”, he whispered, taking a shy step towards her.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, now. I think.”

“This is it, isn’t it? You did it. You fixed it.” She looked around, to a world that seemed to have gone back to breathing. There were birds singing outside, breeze coming through the open door. “You know what that means?”

He shook his head, still a little overwhelmed.

She answered by leaning forward and kissing him. “Everything can go back to normal, now. We can go back to what we were.”

He looked into her eyes, tempted into kissing her again – into believing what she was saying, believing there was something there for him. It was one of the many times he found himself sad that he knew better.

“No, we can’t. This isn’t – none of this is real.”

“It _could_ be”, she said, putting her hands on his chest. “You can stay here. With me. With your mom. Happy. You can relax here, Bruce. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything else ever again.”

He stroked her cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “The real Betty would never want to run from the real world, no matter how bleak it got. She wouldn’t want me to do it, either.”

Betty smiled at him, a little sad, but she knew he meant it. “Then go”, she said, and she shoved him back.

Bruce felt himself falling into the darkness of the abyss again. Falling and falling.

But this time, he _did_ wake up.

 

* * *

 

**AROUND THAT SAME TIME, IN THE REAL WORLD.**

Betty paced back and forth around the machine, every now and then checking through the little window to see how things were going. It had been a couple of hours since Bruce had gone in, and every minute seemed to drag itself longer and longer. She had – against her best wishes – freshened up upstairs, but had gone back so fast Leonard had worried that she had just been hiding outside of the room for five minutes instead of showering.

But he understood what she was going through. She was not the first (ex-)girlfriend to stand outside the machine wishing she could take a peek inside her (former) lover’s mind, and she hopefully wouldn’t be the last. They had tried to make small-talk, catch up on where they had left off since they had last met – it felt like a decade or two, though they had kept in contact up until the first Culver Incidence – but the conversation just didn’t pick up. Betty’s mind would drift back to Bruce, and Leonard would go back to scribbling his journals.

It didn’t help that the room didn’t have any chairs or much of furniture, either.

Betty had noticed, however, that the liquid in one of the tubes had changed from blue to green, and rather than feeding the machine it seemed to be draining from it. Leonard had not acknowledged it, so she assumed it was part of the project. Hoped, more like it.

Part of her told her that at least now she understood why he was so willing to let them come over, though.

She had just made another turn around herself when they heard shaking coming from the tank. Springing to it, they looked inside to see Bruce shaking, convulsing even. “What is going on? Should we take him out?” she asked, nervously.

“No! No, this is normal. We have to let him go through with it”, he said, but didn’t sound too convinced.

“But –”

“Wait.” Leo said, raising his finger for silence. “Do you hear that? It’s happening.”

“What? What’s happening?”

“A security breach. Someone trespassed in the house’s perimeter”, he said, with a large smile. Sure enough, a second later the lights in the room began to flash red and a loud siren rang through the floor. “Do you know what it means? It’s finally happening, Betty! Come on, we need – we need to make preparations. We – we can’t stay here, there are no supplies, and if they aren’t inside the house yet, we can make a run to one of the panic rooms, but –”

“Wait, you have more than one panic room?”

“Of course I have more than one panic room, Elizabeth, I’m not a Neanderthal. There are two in every floor”, he rolled eyes. Knocking some of his books from the shelf aside, Leonard picked up two guns, displaying them to her. “Which do you want, the Taser-gun or the gun-gun? The gun-gun can break through any kind of armor, but you need to aim for the head, you don’t know how fast they can regenera–”

“What. The. Hell. Are. You. Talking. About?” she interrupted. The flashing lights were about to give her a seizure.

“Don’t you see? It’s obviously an invasion, Betty! They are finally here! I’ve known they know I’m onto them for a while, and I knew this was coming. People make jokes about the lizard folk behind the government, and it’s usually mostly xenophobia, but if they paid attention to these shapeshifters –”

“It’s not an alien invasion, Leo”, she sighed, scratching her forehead. “It’s my dad. He found us.”

“What? _What_?” he looked both heartbroken and confused. “But I didn’t – it wasn’t – I swear, I didn’t –”

“I know”, she said, her heart sinking to the bottom of her stomach.

_Goddamn it, Glenn._

“You still want the gun, though? We can put up a fight.”

She hesitated for a moment, but took it anyway.

The two of them marched upstairs, where surely enough one of her father’s helicopters was parked outside, and General Ross and several of his heavily armed men were already waiting; Leo’s pilot had been knocked out cold in a corner, but he had taken at least three men down with him.

Her father wasn’t happy about it. Then again, when was he ever happy?

He did have a hard time trying to pretend he wasn’t relieved to see her alive and well, even if she was aiding the enemy.

“Stand aside, Elizabeth. This is government business.”

“If you want him, you’re gonna have to go through me”, she said, crossing her arms.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, child.”

“You shouldn’t even be here!” she spat out and, to the surprise of all, pulled the gun on her father. “Do you wiretap the phones of all your employees?”

The soldiers around the General moved uncomfortably. “No,” he said, not amused. “Only those who are sleeping with my daughter. Put the gun down, Elizabeth, we know you won’t shoot.”

“Why not? It’s happened before. Remember that hunting trip when I was fourteen?”

“That was an accident.”

“ _Was it_ , though?”

“If I may”, Leonard interrupted. He put his hand over Betty’s gun, lowering it. “General Ross – uncle Thad – I think your superiors, like Senator Boynton and Senator Gaines, would _not_ be pleased to know that you have unlawfully invaded my home. I suggest you leave, now.”

Ross seemed taken aback for a moment, though his face changed from surprise to amusement rather quickly. “It’s not unlawful if you are harboring a criminal, Doctor Samson.”

“You cannot prove that.”

“He is standing right behind you.”

The pair turned around, to find that Bruce was indeed standing there, already dressed up. He had his hands in the air.

“What the hell are you doing?” Betty asked.

“I’m turning myself in”, he said, with a shrug. “We talked about this. There is no point in running forever.”

“Not like _this_ , you dumbass!”

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll cooperate, as long as nobody else here gets involved in any of this. Can you assure me of that, General Ross?”

“We can arrange it,” Ross said. It wasn’t like he was going to involve Betty on this whole thing more than he needed to, and only God knew what kind of hell he would bring on himself if Samson’s name was involved in any way – he had hoped Betty hadn’t been stupid enough to involve him on these shenanigans, and was disappointed when they managed to pin down her call back to the mansion. He could already foresee the pile and half of paperwork waiting at his desk.

But at least it was for a good cause.

“Tranq him”, he instructed. His men hesitated – they had all seen what had happened to Blonsky – but a firmer “now!” shouted at them was quick to convince one to spring into action.

“No need for this, General. I can turn anymore”, he said, while the soldier put the heavy set of handcuffs on him. “The doctor’s treatment worked.”

“Hooray”, Leonard shouted, in the most deadbeat voice he could muster.

“Best be thorough”, the General insisted, and the soldier injected him with the lion tranquilizer.

Bruce was out cold even before he felt the sting.

 

* * *

 

To say that the ride to Jersey City was awkward would be the understatement of the year. While Doctor Samson stayed at his house – no need to come along now that his job was done – Betty hoped back into the plane parked outside the mansion with her father and Bruce; in fact, she didn’t leave Bruce’s side for a moment, clutching both to him and to the gun at her side, which the General had allowed her to keep, even though he worried she would try to pull some kind of Romeo and Juliet nonsense at the last second.

Although he wasn’t entirely sure that was what happened in the original story. He had never finished the novel and that DiCaprio movie was just too boring.

This was not how Ross had imagined this would go down. He had pictured a lot more positive press, maybe a medal down the line – now all the president was calling it was ‘damage control’, and at best what he could hope to get was keeping his daughter out of prison.

He always knew her involvement with Banner would end up in something like this.

Maybe not as extreme, but definitely in the same ballpark.

Betty had refused to as much as give him a second look, and once the plane landed, she took off. ‘In time, she will forgive me’, he thought to himself. ‘In time she’ll see I had my head in the right place.’

That was mostly wish fulfillment, though. He knew better.

Luckily for him, Betty found somebody else to be angry at. They had just stepped through the doors when she spotted, standing awkwardly at a corner, the figure of her soon-to-be future ex-girlfriend.

“Hey, hey, hey, hold on, can we talk? Please?”

Talbot tried to hold on to Betty’s arm, but she pulled away, angrily.

“I don’t even wanna _look_ at you right now”, she spat out.

“You know this isn’t my fault! I didn’t know – how could I have known he was going to spy on me?”

“But you could have stopped him!” she growled, through gritted teeth. “You could have – you could _at least_ have slowed him down. Or tried! Or – or at least tried to _warn_ us.”

“I did try”, she said, in a low voice. Every set of eyes in the patio had turned itself towards them; every set of ears as well. “And if I had called, he would’ve known! What good would that do?”

“We could have run.”

“And he would have found you. He’s always gonna find you. Don’t you get that yet?”

The hint of desperation in her voice was so palpable, even Betty had to acknowledge it.

“I have to – I need to go”, she said, clearing her throat. “Before my dad starts to dissect him.”

Glenn was about to let her go, when something came to her. “Shouldn’t you – wouldn’t it be better if you called someone? Someone that could help, in a more legal sense?”

Betty’s eyes widened. “Yes. Yes! You’re right! Jennifer. I should call Jennifer. She’s in New York – she can be here in a couple of hours. And she can bring the press with her! With this place crawling with reporters, dad won’t be able to get Bruce under the knife just yet.”

“See, I’m not just the beauty in this couple. I’m also the brains”, Glenn said, allowing herself a smirk. “This _is_ still a couple, right?”

“Yes”, Betty said, her lips curling. “And if I weren’t still angry at you, I’d kiss you.”

“In twenty minutes, then?”

“Twenty minutes is good.”

“Right, so I will –”

But by then Betty had already left, sprinting towards the inside of the building. it was a good thing too; at least Glenn wouldn’t have to come up with a lie to finish the sentence. She, after all, had other plans in mind.

 

* * *

 

When Bruce next woke up, it was with the kind of headache that only someone who had been injected with what felt like 12 dosages of horse tranquilizer could have. Why did horses even need such strong tranquilizers anyway?

He found himself inside of an almost claustrophobically small bedroom made out of transparent walls – or at least one would look at it and think so, but his ears had gotten good enough to pick up the smallest sound, and that included the small friction the electrified circuit made. He knew with certainty that if he so much as tried to touch it he would lose a finger.

Or worse.

His little room had been built inside of another, bigger room. This one was completely dark, except for the light radiating for the fake walls. It was impossible to tell how big the rest of the room was, or if he was underground or not; there was nothing but the vast darkness ahead. Knowing Ross, that was probably the intent – no better way to discourage any rebelling thought of escaping, right?

Maybe it was the opposite, even. Maybe he _wanted_ him to escape; to ‘hulk out’, break free, as a way to test his endurance, or just to get things started in whatever project the government had for him.

That wouldn’t do much good. He had tried, once he stepped out of the tank, but it was no use. And his father used to say psychiatric help was for chumps, huh?

 Bruce’s musings didn’t last long, as he soon realized he was not alone in his little confinement. From the shadows, a familiar – though not necessarily welcome – figure stepped out to meet him.

“Hello, Dr. Banner”, Ross said, a few feet ahead.

“Doctor? So formal”, Bruce said, standing up. “We were almost family.”

“Thankfully that did not come to pass”, Ross interjected. “We all know how your family turned out.”

Bruce clenched his teeth, so tight it could’ve shattered a diamond. “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you? You always had it out for me. Must be a dream come true. Maybe even of the sexual kind. You seem like the kind that would be into some race play. Is that what this is about? You should probably talk to Samson about it.”

“Shut it, Banner.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” He said, raising his hands defensively. “Maybe that’s why you hate me – it reminds you of all the things you did to people that kinda look like me, when you were in Vietnam…”

“I said shut it”, Ross practically growled. Bruce could see he had gotten to him; there were veins bulging on his neck that could be spotted from the moon. “I take no pleasure in seeing you like this, but you left us no other choice.”

“What else did you expect me to do? Turn myself in?”

“Isn’t that what you did, in the end?”

“After I made you sure you couldn’t use me as your tool anymore”, he said, stepping closer to the wall. “Why _am_ I still here, Ross? Why not just shoot me in the head and be done with it? You have my research, you have the means to replicate it, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to help you. I’m not a valuable asset anymore.”

The General scoffed. “As usual, Banner, you don’t really understand anything.”

“That’s not true. I understand some things. Many things. I have several PhDs, you know? Some of which are from Harvard, even. That’s more than you can say, right? You didn’t actually finish high school…is that why you joined the Army? So you could pay for college?”

Ross stepped closer to Bruce’s cage, enough that he could see his bloodshot eyes. Bruce knew that taunting the General wasn’t a good idea – whatever was in storage for him couldn’t possibly be made any better by him pushing the old man’s buttons – but after years of having to put up with him and his overbearingness and controlling nature, there were so many things stuck on Bruce’s throat that he wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity of finally letting them out.

Not to mention that seen Thaddeus’ struggle not to jump into his cage and strangle Bruce with his bare hands was something that someone could only savor once in a lifetime; though what he said next was a little more… bittersweet.

“Your formula. Doesn’t. Work.” Ross said, spitting out the words.

“No – no, that’s stupid. Of course it works.”

“For what _you_ had in mind, maybe. But the results are short-lived. Eventually, the cells revert to what they once were, sometimes worse… and none of them had the same effect as yours. Which begs the question –” his face, now so close to the electrified wall his saliva was causing interference on it. “What is it about you that is difference? What kind of _freak_ are you?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for some time now, General. I don’t think a blood test is going to answer either of us”, Bruce scoffed. He was trying to play it cool, but at that moment he would have preferred if Ross had decked him.

Maybe…maybe there was something about him; something wrong. But that didn’t matter. He had hoped – he had prayed – the formula would still have long-term effects. That, even after all this destruction, there was still a chance he could do some legit good in the world.

And now that was gone.

“That is just one more reason for me not to help you”, he said, regaining his composure.

“That may be so, but we’ll see how long it lasts”, Ross said, with a smirk. “In the meantime, you stay here while we transfer you to a more secure location. Solitude will make you rethink your choices.”

And he stepped back, into the shadows. As he left, the lights of Bruce’s cell went off.

 

* * *

 

As he made his way back to his office, Ross allowed himself to breathe.

He could have snapped – he came very, very close to it – but he held back on it. He knew it was what Banner wanted; he could see it in his eyes. Thaddeus had always known there was something about that man… he had never been able to prove it, but he knew it.

Now everybody did, too.

The government wasn’t gonna be happy about how all of this had turned out, but that would be a conversation for another time – the important thing was to get Banner somewhere where others couldn’t get their hands on him; he knew there were other organizations eyeing the beast. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been sniffing around for a while, that much he knew. That’s why he couldn’t stop looking, even for a moment.

Like his old man used to say, hard work pays off. Most of the time, anyway.

While he headed to his office, he accidentally stumbled onto Talbot; literally crashed into her, whose head seemed to be in the clouds.

“Watch where you’re going, Major”, he said, as she held onto him for grounding.

“Sorry, sir. It’s been a stressful couple of days.”

“You tell me.”

She adjusted the briefcase she was carrying against her chest and left, hurriedly. A strange young woman, Ross always thought she was; he couldn’t see exactly what Betty saw on her. Then again, after Banner, he wouldn’t mind if those two even got married.

But that wasn’t quite legal in most states yet.

He was just about to get to his place, so he could put his feet up the air and relax, when he spotted something that threw him off-guard. Something so unimaginable that for a moment he just looked at it, blinking, dumbfound.

It was…Blonsky. Back on his feet, or at least trying to be. He was dragging himself through the base, wandering aimlessly, covered in blood. His blood? There was a lot of blood. How was he standing already? Was that possible? _Should_ that be possible?

Once the shock passed, Ross rushed to him, but the man didn’t seem to recognize him initially. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be at the medlab?”

“Banner – I need to – find Banner –”

“It’s alright, man. Banner has been dealt with.”

Blonsky’s eyes widened. From afar, the medical team seemed to have caught wind of him, too, as they were running towards them. “Dead?” he asked.

“No. Imprisoned. He’s never gonna hurt anybody else again.”

“No. No. No. I need to – I need to get Banner. Get him. Banner. Need to –”

His rambling was interrupted when one of the nurses got to him, sedative at hand. Dr. Perera reached them soon thereafter, as the others carried the unconscious Blonsky back to the medical compound.

“How can he already be on his feet, doc?” Ross asked.

“He _shouldn’t_ ”, she corrected. “One moment he was in his room, and then he wasn’t. We’ve been looking for both he and you, General, before anything bad could happen. He should not be able to speak, much less stroll around. We need to run some tests, figure out who – or what – we are dealing with.”

She did not need to spell it out for him. Ross knew exactly what she meant.

Jesus. What was up with all those freaks popping up? Between all of this and the freaky suit of armor flying around on military radars, he was starting to think there was something in the water.

“What about all that blood?”

“Probably injured himself when trying to remove the cast. We’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

But telling him ‘don’t worry’ wasn’t going to do him any good. He was already worrying.

 

* * *

 

Bruce had barely had a minute to catch his thoughts when the lights in his cell turned on again. It wasn’t General Ross this time, though the new presence was equally unwelcomed.

“Have you come to gloat as well?” he asked, to Major Talbot.

She, however, didn’t seem in the mood to rejoice at the man’s misery. A surprise, all things considered. “No”, she said, hugging her briefcase tightly. “I’m here to bail you out.”

From the briefcase, she pulled a remote control unit. With a press, the electrified walls turned off. Bruce didn’t move.

He was afraid there were snipers waiting in some of the dark corners, or maybe some kind of wire that would chop both his legs off if he stepped through. Maybe like that scene in the first Resident Evil movie where the guy gets chopped into cubicles; he had only watched up until that point before he had to run out of the theater, with Betty laughing behind him. She enjoyed her fair share of horror movies, which had bewildered and worried him, but then he met her father and everything kinda made sense.

But that is besides the present point.

“Did Betty send you here?” he asked, squinting.

“No. In fact, neither she nor her father can know I’m doing this. It’s why you need to hurry up so I can return this to the General, before he notices I have it.”

“How did you even get your hands on it?”

“I lifted it from his pocket when we met earlier. I’m very good at pickpocketing.”

Bruce wanted to ask how and why, but Talbot didn’t look to be in the mood for sharing.

“If he finds out –”

“I know. Jail is the least of all evils waiting for me. That much I have figured out.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because…” she hesitated. “Betty loves you, and I love Betty, and I know it would hurt her to think you are trapped in here – or somewhere worse. That’s why I’m bailing you out.”

That was good enough to convince him to step out of the cage. It did not, in fact, trigger anything into blowing his brains out, so that was progress.

Although not by a wide margin. It just raised more issues. Like…

“What am I gonna do, then? If I go on the run, he is just going to find me again. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“Only because you are both stupid”, she rolled eyes. From inside the briefcase, Talbot pulled out a uniform, much like one of those worn by the guys that had brought him in there. She also had a pair of keys at hand. “You’re gonna put this on, you’re going to the parking lot, getting into one of the cars, and you’re getting the hell out of here before they realize you’re out. Then, you’re going to keep driving all the way to Maine, where you’ll look for an old friend of mine – his name is William, but he goes by Grey. He says he is retired, but he owes me a couple of favors. He will get you new papers, a passport, new documents –”

“How do you even know a guy like that?”

“I was a young lesbian in a conservative town, in a deep-red state, Banner. I had to make-do with what I got”, she huffed, pushing the clothes onto him. “His current address is on one of the pockets. Once you get everything sorted out, he can get you across the border, to Canada. From there, you take these –” she handed him a pair of tickets. Plane tickets. To Greece. “And you leave the continent. Go travel through Europe. I don’t really care.”

“Did you already have this at hand?” he asked, accepting the gift reluctantly. “How long have you been planning this?”

“This was supposed to be my anniversary gift. For Betty. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Bruce hesitated taking the gift. He knew what it meant for Glenn; he knew what would happen if they found out she was involved in this. He didn’t want to cause any more grievance… on the other hand, that could also be accomplished by running to Greece to make cheese in some little town forgotten by civilization.

Maybe he could even go travelling. Visit Europe. Or live by a nuclear power plant. At least that would they would never find him.

It was a solid plan.

“I’ll wait outside while you change”, she said, handing him what he needed. “Don’t waste time.”

He had no intention of doing so. Two minutes after Talbot had stepped out, Bruce followed suit, pulling up his extra-loose pants. Those people never seemed to get his size right.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” he asked, one last time.

“I am, and at this point you are too, even if you change your mind”, she assured.

They left, each heading in a different direction. While Bruce looked back one last time to her, Glenn didn’t.

 

* * *

 

In spite of the fact that he felt like a circus clown in those baggy clothes, under a clearly made-up name – there was no way in hell anyone was _actually_ called Armbruster, that was ridiculous – Bruce managed to go through most of the base without anyone as much as giving him a second look. In any other occasion, he would have stopped to question the level of security in the place, but at the moment he had other worries in mind.

He made it all the way to the parking lot, even as far as unlocking the car; freedom was almost under his fingertips... had it not been for him stumbling upon a trail of blood leading to the barracks not much further away.

Now, when faced with a mysterious-looking trail of blood leading to a building whose lights are flickering on and off, one must ask oneself whether they want to carry on with their business, or if they want to ignore the fact that there are at least 27 distinct horror movies that start with a vaguely similar premise and go take a look. Given Bruce had not, in fact, watched any of these movies, he was unaware of what may have been waiting for him over there.

Which is a very roundabout way of saying that he went to check it out.

In there, Bruce ran into the third person he would not have wanted to see that day, and the one that would rather have seen anyone else but Banner's face.

“Oh, great. Oh, no. Am I seeing things? Are you a hallucination?” Samuel Sterns asked. He was writhing on the floor of what once had been a lab, surrounded by shattered glass, covered in blood and other, less-appealing fluids.

“Sam? Are you alright? What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to help his old friend out of the floor, but Samuel shoved him off, backing himself into a corner.

“You _are_ here. Shit. What the hell, Banner? Aren’t you supposed to be on the lam?”

“It’s...complicated. How long have you been in here?”

“Doesn’t matter. Goddamn it. You have to get the hell out of here, Banner.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the – wait.” He paused, looking around; actually, really looking around at the destruction surrounding them. Some of the broken vials still had readable labels on them; many of which read 'Mr. Green' on them.

Samuel was covered in blood.

It just wasn't his own.

“It’s you”, he said, in a strangled whisper. “You’re Mr. Blue.”

“To be honest, it took you six months longer than I thought to figure that out”, Samuel scoffed. He managed to crawl towards the overturned table and use it to pull himself upwards. “But then again, you were never the smartest cookie in the jar.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. “Was I wrong? Did you – were you helping them track me down?”

“And have Ross interfere on my work? Don’t be insane, Banner. I already had to work with what I had at hand, I didn’t need another hindrance.”

“But you weren’t trying to cure me, were you? All that stuff you told me – about the herbs, about – about doing yoga… were you just stringing me along?”

“A necessary lie”, Samuel said, out of breath. Some of the liquid covering his face had begun to slowly seep into the open wound above his eyebrow. “You wouldn’t exactly hand it over to me if I had asked you, would you?”

“No! Why would you – why do you even need this for?”

“To continue our project, obviously. Our research. Our breakthrough.”

“‘Our’? There is no _our_. You were barely an assistant!”

“That is more your fault than mine. You never appreciated my ideas, Banner. I had to take matters into my own hands.”

“What the hell does that –”

Bruce felt a lump growing at the back of his throat. He had double, triple, even quadruple checked the machine before they started. He had only briefly left before the demonstration began, to speak with Ross, but he had left Frank overseeing the final details. Frank and...

“Did you alter my formula, Samuel?”

“Alter? I improved it!” He laughed, hoarsely. “I had seen the flaws of it early on, its limitations, but you never listened to anyone but yourself, Bruce. I couldn’t correct you. You would never accept that you were wrong.”

“It wasn’t _supposed_ to be wrong! It was supposed to – to help people! Instead you turned me into this...this thing, and you put Ricky in a wheelchair, and Frank –” Bruce took a step back, covering his face with his hands. “He knew. He knew you had – he knew –”

“He almost caught me, at the last second,” Sterns said, barricaded behind the table. “And I knew, after the explosion, he would connect the dots. I didn’t exactly set myself up to do it, but there were rocks everywhere, and the ceiling was about to fall anyway –”

“You killed my friend!” Bruce growled, pushing the table against the wall until he had Samuel pinned to it, his hand firmly on the other man’s throat; his anger pouring out of him in a way that, in any other circumstance, would have made him turn into his worst self.

“You can’t prove that”, Sterns coughed up, trying to grab onto Bruce’s hand as it choked the air out of him.

“What makes you think I can’t just drag your ass out of here and into Ross’ office?”

“Take a look around you, Bruce. Can you imagine _me_ doing this to my own equipment?”

No, of course not. That would be ridiculous. There would have to be something else, something...monstrous.

“What the hell did you do?” Bruce demanded to know, lifting him up inches from the ground.

“You have power. Power that nobody else in this world has – _had_. And what do you do with it? Hide, like a coward”, he spat out, with a scornful grin. “So I found someone that would appreciate it.”

“Are you out of your mind?! This power – you can’t control it. Nobody can.”

“I know that _now_. That’s why I said you should be running, ‘cause the guy I’ve been working on...he’s the same you put in the hospital couple of days ago, and he ain’t gonna stop 'till he folds you in half.”

Bruce backed away from him, releasing the grip on his throat. Sterns fell on the floor, curled up, the world blinking in and out of focus around him. His head was pulsing in ways he was not sure had anything to do with Bruce choking him.

“I’d start running if I were you”, he said, with the creepiest smile. “‘cause if he knows you're here...you’re in for a hell of a lot of trouble.”

And he was right. Somewhere not much far from there, a team of doctors continued to try and sedate Blonsky, who had gotten progressively more violent on his attempts at freeing himself. Needles broke as they tried to penetrate his skin, and five men struggled to hold him down so he could be strapped into bed. His cries for Banner echoed through the entire medical bay, as loudly as the sound of one of the doctors going crashing through three walls when, upon lashing out, Blonsky shoved him away from him.

The other doctors, horrified, began to back away, but by then it was already too late – Blonsky snapped his arm off of the restrainer they had managed to put him on, twisting in the bed like a mad man. His body grew, stretched to its limits and then beyond, deforming itself in the process, bones turning into spikes that sprung from his back and arms and legs in rows, ripping away the flesh of the man he once was.

The doctors ran off, scattered, trying to leave its path of destruction while it destroyed the room, sending beds crashing through windows and medical equipment flying into the skulls of anyone who dared to stand in its way.

In the pandemonium, Doctor Perera managed to reach the security alarm, sending the whole base into red alert.

Attracting every soldier in the base towards them was...maybe not the best of ideas.

The beast screamed for Banner once again as it tore down the walls, bodies or otherwise on its way out. It ignored the screams, eyes tinted with blood, its mind focused on one thing and one thing only.

Said thing could even from afar already hear what was coming for him. For a brief, shiny moment, Bruce thought that maybe he wouldn't need to run – maybe he could come clean. Maybe this all could work itself out. Now, even if he told the truth to Ross, and worse yet, even if Ross believed him...there was no way he could scape whatever that thing was that was screaming his name.

That, however, didn't mean he couldn't at least _try_.

Making the already-regrettable decision of leaving Samuel behind as the other man curled himself into a ball, his whole body shivering, Bruce took off back to the parking lot, where he shoved himself into the designated car Glenn had gotten to him. He drove off, crashed through the boom barrier on his way towards the main avenue, tires screeching as he took a sharp turn left. From the rear mirror, he could see Blonsky – or whatever abomination had taken over his body – walking out of the ruins of a building he had just brought down. That thing had its eyes on him.

 

* * *

 

While Bruce made a run for it, with Blonsky hot on his tail, the rest of the base tried to pull itself back together. Ross had escaped being on the monster’s way by a matter of minutes; he had left for a coffee, just as the red alert began blaring across the base. Before he knew it, he was shouting orders over the comm links, telling people to gear up.

He thought there was no way that Banner could have escaped. Even if he had turned, there was no way he could have left that cell without at least losing a few limbs; that was exactly what it had been designed for. Not even Banner could bypass that.

At least in that he was right.

“What the hell is that thing?” he asked, to nobody in particular.

“I think that’s…Blonsky, sir”, came the answer from Talbot, as she and Betty converged on his location.

“What the hell do you mean _that’s Blonsky_?!”

“The medbay is on fire, dad”, Betty said. “Whatever tests they were doing on him there didn’t end well.”

“Judging by what he’s been screaming, I have a feeling he is going after Banner.”

“We need to evacuate him. Right now!”

He motioned to go back to Banner’s cell, but Talbot stopped him. “He’s not there anymore.”

“What? What the hell is that supposed to –” Ross searched around his pockets, but the control was nowhere to be found – not surprising, given it was still on Talbot’s hand. “YOU LET HIM GO?!”

“It was the right thing to do, sir.”

“The right – Are you out of your MIND?! What are you, nine? He was not a frog you were afraid to dissect, Talbot! Do you have any idea what this is going to cost you?”

She did, yeah. But the glimmer in Betty’s eyes when their gazes met was... worth it.

Betty had barely waited until her father was gone – he left, stomping his feet and shouting at people to gather the troops and prepare for heavy assault, begrudged with the knowledge that that wasn’t the moment to have that fight in particular – to throw her arms around Glenn’s neck, giving her a big, sloppy kiss.

“I guess it’s been more than twenty minutes”, Glenn said.

“Guess it’s been”, she said, biting down her lower lip. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. I don’t regret doing it.”

She did, actually, but she wasn't gonna tell Betty that.

“We should – you should help out my father. If Blonsky is after Bruce, then–”

He would not admit that in his own accords, but Ross did need them. “We need to know which car Banner took off in”, he said, as they boarded one of the copters. He, begrudgingly, made space for them.

“Sparr’s.”

“Hey!” Sparr hassled, standing at the General’s side.

Talbot shrugged.

“Is there any way we can track it?”

“‘Course, yeah, the tracker is always on, just in case my son decides to take it for a spin, so–”

“I don’t care about your backstory, Kathleen. We just need to get to Banner before that thing does.”

That would be quite the task.

 

* * *

 

Bruce had tried getting Blonsky off of his tail, but whatever kind of transformation Sterns had put him through, it had made his senses even more acute than Banner’s; he was still coming, no matter how many obscenely dangerous sharp turns Banner took, or how many tight and dark alleys he ran through. He just kept coming and, unlike Bruce, he didn’t have to dodge small animals on the road or circumvent frail old ladies who decided to cross the street at that exact moment, completely disregarding the car speeding towards them or the huge grey monster rampaging not much further behind.

Cars were piling up on the streets as they crashed onto each other, or onto hydrants, or lamp posts, or buildings, each driver trying to get away from the oncoming beast as they could. People were running – to or towards – the destruction, barely dodging the vehicles thrown towards them by Blonsky, who kept flinging them aside like they were paper balls.

There was a trail of fire and destruction that was impossible to miss. Bruce could only imagine what would happen if – _when_ – he finally caught up to him. Where could he possibly run to?

He knew, in the back of his head, that running wouldn’t solve it. But the other option was...

_No_. He didn’t want to think of it.

Bruce gripped the wheel tighter. For someone who was tired of running, he fell back on old habits rather easily.

At least – he found out soon enough – this time he wasn't doing it alone.

As he reached River Road, Blonsky still hot on his tail, Bruce saw a saving grace in the horizon, though he never in a million years that would be an expression he would use to refer to a fleet of military choppers flying towards him.

_Maybe_ , he thought. _Maybe I can make it out alive of this one_.

One of the helicopters flew ahead of the others. Someone with a microphone had popped out of him.

Even from the rear view mirror, Bruce could tell who it was. “Bruce, turn on the radio!” Betty shouted, through a megaphone. “Turn the radio on!”

“What? How the hell is that supposed to help me?” he asked, out loud. She didn’t even tell a station before the chopper pulled back abruptly!

But she didn’t need to. Every single local station had been mobilized, and as soon as he turned the radio on, every single one of them blasted the same message – _I repeat, do not leave your house_ , Talbot’s voice said. _We are taking the necessary precautions to contain the situation. You are not in any danger. Stay in your homes, evacuate the streets, keep your distance, and Dr. Banner –_

She paused. There was a hint of…something in her voice. Something not quite like fear, but perhaps worse. _There is a barricade near the Washington Bridge. If you can reach it, we can evacuate you until we deal with the issue at hand. We’ll provide you with a distraction._

Bruce sped up, letting the helicopters provide him cover. The choppers circled Blonsky, as did the soldiers on the street, flashing lights over his face and demanding him to cease and desist. The beast growled, disoriented for a moment, and it called out for Banner again; in retaliation, Ross’ men opened fire, raiding him with bullets.

By then, they ought to have known better.

The results were almost exactly the same of when they had tried that tact on Bruce – pointless, doing little more than just cause a nuisance. Blonsky blinked, his eyes quickly adapting to the light; he knocked back the soldiers at his surroundings, smashing them into and under cars. Some kept shooting – as though a riffle would do much difference at that point – before their weapons were ripped out of their hands, some with the arms still attached to it. From one of the helicopters, a soldier shot a missile, but he grabbed it mid-air, crushing it with his fingers, basking in the fire of the explosion.

As payback, he grabbed a nearby motorcycle, hurling it towards the helicopters. One of the pilots tried to dodge it, but instead it just crashed hard against the one at its side. Another one swerved to avoid the impact, but the pilot lost control and it went into one of the nearby buildings, bringing it all down in clouds of fire and smoke.

Even from afar, Bruce could see the chaos and the destruction. He looked back and for a moment – for a stupid long moment – he wondered if maybe that was it. Maybe Sterns’ process wasn’t as good as the original explosion, maybe…

But when nothing came out of the explosion, it didn’t make him hopeful. It just made him scared.

With good reason. When he turned back ahead, it was in time to brace himself for impact as his car crashed straight into Blonsky, already waiting for him. Had it not been for the seatbelt, he would have been flung through the window; or at least his upper body would’ve gone.

“BANNER!” Blonsky shouted, grabbing the car by the sides. “WHERE. IS. BANNER!”

“I’m here. I’m here”, Bruce said, letting go of the wheel.

“Not you! The _real_ Banner!”

Blonsky slammed the car on the ground one, two, three times, before grabbing hold of it and flinging it across the river. From their helicopter away from the fight, Betty, Glenn and the general watched as the car shot made its way into Harlem.

This time, Bruce knew there was no way out. Not of this one. Not unless he did it; sacrificed the freedom he had come to enjoy for all but a couple of hours. He knew that, if the government couldn’t even stop the hulk, it couldn’t stop the monstrosity Blonsky had become. There was only one thing that could.

To fight monsters, we must allow ourselves to become one.

He closed his eyes, thinking about what Dr. Samson had told him – about what could hook him back. He thought about Betty. He thought about his mother.

He thought about love.

Now _that’s_ one hell of a trigger.

When the dust and the smoke cleared, what emerged from the crater left on the middle of the avenue wasn’t Banner anymore – a monstrous green hand dug itself out, and the hulk emerged, growling and moaning. Blonsky, who had followed him across the river, landed not much far ahead; he had a smile that, even on his deformed face, looked almost joyful.

“Finally”, he snarled, running towards the hulk.

The hulk followed suit.

In a show of strength, the two met half-way, an impact that sent a shockwave that knocked back anyone still nearby. The people on the streets of Harlem ran away from the impact as the beasts brawled on the ground, knocking each other against sign boards and glass showcases. Their strength was more than just to match: each punch left a bruise that even their advanced healing bodies struggled to heal. The hulk’s, specially.

Whatever Sterns had done to his formula, it sure worked better than the original Gamma explosion.

Blonsky didn’t pull back. Didn’t hesitate. Delighted in finally having power to go toe-to-toe with the hulk, he was putting his muscles to good use; with a punch, he sent Banner flying into a vacant bus, and through it. Bruce went head-first into the pavement, the world spinning around him, with barely enough time to dodge the other vehicles Blonsky was hurling in his direction.

“Come on!” Blonsky taunted, as Bruce stumbled on his feet. The noise and the fire were throwing him off.

But that wouldn’t stop him.

Rather, he used it in his favor. Banner tore one of the cop cars left on the street in half, picking each half as a boxing glove – a move Blonsky had seen him doing far too well.

With a roar that could be heard all the way to Hell’s Kitchen, the hulk went in, socking him from all sides ‘till Blonsky was on the floor, lying between his legs, pieces of the car scattering away at every blow. When there was nothing left of the machine, Bruce went back to using his fists, burrowing Blonsky’s head into the asphalt.

But the beast wasn’t very amused.

“Is that all you got?” he laughed, and when Bruce readied to deliver another blow, he kicked him in the chest, sending the hulk flying into the brownstone behind them.

Bruce came out on the other side, after passing through at least two or three different apartments. His body was strained beyond its limits; even standing up was painful. He knew he couldn’t stop, however. He couldn’t let that monster keep at it.

 He was lucky enough that help had arrived. Ross’ squad of helicopters – at least the ones left – had reassembled above them, shooting at Blonsky while he climbed his way up the brownstone. “Flank him. From all sides”, Ross demanded, over the comm links. “Keep him busy while the green guy does his thing.”

Those were words Thaddeus never thought he’d hear himself saying, but at that point, it shouldn’t even be a surprise anymore.

Civilians were curled up under their beds while the choppers opened fire towards the apartment. Chunks of brick rained onto the street, burying everything on its way. Blonsky leaped, from one building to the other, breaking through walls or climbing up them, as Ross’ screams to keep the aim on him could be heard even from where they were.

Even in his state, Bruce knew that, if it continued, it would be more than just Blonsky they would be hurting.

Finding the strength to pull himself back up, he climbed upwards, into the roof of the nearest building. Blonsky had just charged through it, knocking down water tanks and chimneys; through the window of one of the helicopters, he had just caught the sight of Ross, and the opportunity could not be missed.

When he jumped, so did the hulk, grabbing onto him before he could reach the helicopter. The two goliaths clashed in the air, kicking and punching each other, their bodies wrecking down whole sides of buildings as they fell.

Their struggle landed on the construction site of one of Roxxon Oil’s new headquarters, where both landed heavily. Hulk more so than Blonsky.

“We’re not done yet”, the beast said. Grabbing Bruce by the hair, he slammed his face onto the ground, grinding it into the hard rock until he could really feel it. Blood – green blood – pouring out of his nose.

That had been the first time the hulk had bled.

When Bruce struggled to free himself, Blonsky threw him against a wall, pinning him to it by a firm arm against the neck. “You’re weak”, he scoffed. “Pathetic.”

Bruce answered by kneeling him on the ribs, again and again, as he used whatever left of energy he had to deal blows to him. Blonsky socked his face harder against the cement. “You don’t deserve this power. I’m gonna take it from you. Take _everything_ from you.”

He dug one of the spikes coming from his elbow deep into the hulk’s chest, missing out the heart by an inch. His bones cracked.

But death would not come to claim either Bruce or the hulk just yet.

Before he could push down any further, he was startled by a missile, hitting right between the shoulder blades – didn’t hurt, so much as it caught by surprise. Behing Blonsky, Ross’ helicopter had swooped in, hammering him with bullets again.

It wasn’t enough to do damage – it wasn’t enough to even break skin – but it distracted long enough for the hulk to get the upper hand. Wrestling Blonsky’s arm away from his chest, he head-butted him, taking the opportunity to strike. Bruce kicked and punched and kicked some more, grabbing him by the sides and swinging him into a pile of debris.

With blood dripping out of his face, Blonsky laughed. “I should keep you alive long enough to see me tearing them apart limb from limb.”

He grabbed the chains from the crane, still attached to heavy concrete pillars, and slammed them against the side of hulk’s face, knocking him back down; the green brute's body plopping down with a bang. He then turned his attention to the helicopter, hovering low enough that they made a perfect target.

“Hey, General”, he taunted, swinging the chains above his head, ready to take chopper out of the sky. From the window, Betty, Glenn and her father looked down on the fight, Betty’s hands covering her mouth. On the ground, Bruce caught a glimpse of her. “Any last words?”

“Hulk...” he stood up, pulling himself on his feet. “SMASH!”

He slammed his fists on the ground. It cracked open beneath him, all the way to where Blonsky was, swallowing down his feet. The beast lost his balance, letting go of the chains, which fell on top of him – _hard_. The hulk jumped to the opportunity, taking hold of them and wrapping them around Blonsky’s neck.

The monster struggled to free himself, punching and kicking and grabbing at Bruce’s face, trying to pull away. The hulk put up a fight; as the threat to Betty rung on his ears, his anger grew, and so did his strength. He ripped off one of Blonsky’s spikes – the same he had used to stab Bruce in the chest – and returned the favor, making sure to hit right between the ribs.

Still, he fought. Elbowed. Kicked and punched and screamed, so loud it shook the structures of the construction site; but his voice died down as the hulk wrapped the chains tighter around his neck and pulled, ‘till his knees buckled down and he stopped trying to pull away.

But the hulk didn't stop. His fury blinded him, consumed him, burning from the inside out. He could not let another one – another _thing_ – like him exist into this world.

He kept pulling, even after he'd heard the distinguishable sound of bones cracking. Even after Blonsky had stopped struggling. Even after he’d already won.

And he’d have gone through with it, had it not been for a familiar voice calling him back. “Stop!” Betty shouted, hopping off the helicopter and running towards him. “Enough!”

She had tears burning in her eyes – but not for Blonsky. Not even for the hulk; but for the man still inside of him. The man who would have to carry that burden with him, if he could even bring himself back to Banner this time.

That was always the risk, wasn’t it? That he would stay like that. That the cells wouldn’t stop regenerating – changing – mutating into something new. Something... other.

Bruce let go of the chains, throwing Blonsky’s body aside, just as it began to shift around, shrinking. “Be...tty”, he whispered, and motioned to come closer to her, but stopped himself.

Betty had approached him, and so had her father and Glenn, alongside the rest of Ross’ men, the NYPD and the locals. There were guns pointing at him from all sides, but also cameras and cell phones.

He was cornered – again. Trapped. Suffocated. Even with Blonsky at his feet, even after helping them, they could only see the destruction he’d left behind. They’d always fear him. There was nothing for him there. Not anymore.

Letting out a guttural howl, strong enough to keep anyone at bay, he distanced himself from them. When one of Ross’ men gesture to shoot, the general stopped him, motioning them to lower their weapons.

Thaddeus did not react when the Hulk leaped off onto a nearby building, and then to the next, farther than anyone could spot him.

“Are you going to let him go, sir?” Talbot asked.

“Let’s give him a headstart. A couple of months, maybe a year. Let’s see if he can really control this thing. I think he earned it.”

Betty considered telling her father that wouldn’t be the case – like Leo had said, his solution was a one-time thing. She chose not to mention it, however; let Bruce have this one.

 

* * *

 

**A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA,**

The light of the sun was already starting to die out on Abbey Road when a blue car pulled up next to one of the neighborhood houses; the one whose mailbox read ‘CHO’ on it. The owner of said mailbox – and house – soon stepped out of the car; she looked a little disheveled, and there were definitely bags under her eyes, but otherwise, Helen Cho looked perfectly fine, thank you very much.

In her hands, she was carrying the set of books from the last class she had taught, alongside an edition of the local newspaper. The title was the same as any _other_ newspaper or magazine on the last couple of days – HEARINGS ON THE HARLEM INCIDENT THIS WEEK; GENERAL ROSS TO TAKE THE STAND. Not even that playboy millionaire coming out as some sort of…super-suit wearing vigilante had been enough to waive their interest on the what they were dubbing the fight of the century.

Some would go in great detail over what had happened, making sure to mention the names of the people involved as much as possible. It was common knowledge now. Some had even taken upon themselves to name the green beast.

‘The Hulk’, with a capital H. To be fair, Bruce had taken a liking to the name.

He stood on the other side of the street, in a baseball cap, pretending to be waiting for a bus that had passed at least a dozen times in the last two or so hours. He had watched, through the windows, as the babysitter played with kids, and then when she put them to watch some cartoons on TV while she called someone in the other room; probably to mention how Helen was late home _again_.

If she was mad, she didn’t show it when she opened the door, stepping out the moment she heard the car pulling in. Helen paid the young woman off, thanked her wholeheartedly, said she was sorry about a hundred times for the hold up, and then headed inside.

Just as she was about to go in, however, she stopped and turned around, looking over at the exact point where Bruce had been. By then, however, he was already gone.

He had come to check upon on her, see if she was truly doing alright...all things considered. Part of him was hoping at least somebody out of this whole incident had managed to live a normal life.

People who say ‘normal is overrated’ never had to be homeless.

Bruce walked through the streets, half sightseeing, half headed to a bus station. Now that the government had unfrozen his assets, it was easier to move around, even if he had to live with the nagging feeling that Ross was watching his movements very carefully. A small price to pay, really.

As he neared a bus stop, a bus came by, and a young woman left it. As she left, two young men on the other side of the street took notice of her; one elbowed the other and made a distinctive head nod towards her. The two hooded figures followed her and Bruce, sensing where this was going, went as well.

By the time he had reached the end of the street, the duo had gotten to the girl, pushing her towards a dirty alley. Even in the dying evening light, Bruce could see one of them carried something very sharp in his hands.

“I swear – I swear – I don’t have any money!” the girl cried out, as a men wrestled her bag away from her, the other holding a knife dangerously close to her throat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you”, Bruce said, attracting the men’s attention.

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy with the blade asked.

“I will give you one hint”, he said, stepping closer.

In the shadows, all they could see was a pair of glowing green eyes coming for them.

 

* * *

 

**SOMEWHERE NOT FAR FROM OAKLAND, MIRTY’S DINER.**

Agent Jasper Sitwell sat in one of the booths in the back of the diner, slowly blowing into his hot coffee, as the clock on the wall opposite to him slowly ticked the minutes away. It was unusual for the person he was waiting for – fellow agent Coulson – to be late, but these had been rather busy weeks for the national security community; between the Iraq Incident, the Stark Tower Event and the Harlem Duel, they hadn’t been this busy in a long time.

And he got a feeling they were just getting started.

“Sorry for the delay. The hearing took longer than expected”, said someone standing at his side, and in the time it took for him to blink, Coulson was there, alongside his awful tendency to sneak upon people when they least expect.

“Understandable. You hungry? They make great pancakes here”, Sitwell said, as Coulson took the seat before him.

His fellow agent did not look to be in the mood for pancakes, sadly. Coulson was chewing the insides of his cheeks, but might as well be sucking on a lemon.

That was…troublesome.

“I take it didn’t go well, did it?” he asked.

“No, it didn’t.”

“They’ve rejected re-opening the program?”

“Of course not. Not openly, anyway. But they’ve made the most idiotic, ill-conceived request imaginable.”

“Don’t tell me they want Barton on the team.”

“Worse. Blonsky.”

“The _Abomination_?”

“They really don’t like when you call him that.”

“What about the Harlem Incident?”

“They’re pinning that on Banner.”

“On Banner?”

“Yeah. He can’t exactly defend himself. Blonsky can. They consider him a war hero. They want him exonerated, released and added to the roster.”

Sitwell corked an eyebrow. “And they think we _have_ him?”

Coulson hesitated. “What clearance level are you on?”

“That’s funny”, Sitwell laughed. “Level six, obviously. Like you.”

Coulson… did not find it as funny.

“Come on! There’s a level _seven_?!”

“That’s classified”, he answered, mostly to piss Jasper off. “Blonsky’s in General Ross’ custody.”

“Does the Director even want Blonsky?”

“As much as he wants to lose his other eye – but he can’t ignore an explicit directive from the World Security Council. It’s our job to make sure he doesn’t have to.”

“And how the hell are we gonna do that?”

“I have no idea, but we have to send a liaison to the General in the next 24 hours, before my next mission.”

“You already have a next mission?”

“That’s level seven business.”

Sitwell rolled eyes. He’d taken three years to even get this far ahead, and Coulson already outranked him?! “So, on the Council’s orders, we have to send one of our people down to get eaten alive by General Ross, to ask for Blonsky, who we don’t even want?”

“Exactly.”

“Sounds peachy.”

He took a sip of his coffee, by now already getting too cold to be enjoyable, while Coulson looked out of the window, into the darkness of the unknown. Hard to imagine what else was waiting for them out there.

“I got it!” Sitwell said, putting his mug aside. “We send a patsy to sabotage the debriefing.”

“A patsy?”

“Yes. Someone to screw it up. Someone so inept that General Ross will refuse to even think about releasing Blonsky. I can do it. I’m a great patsy.”

“I know that. Your patsy is legendary. In fact, when I think of the word ‘patsy’ –”

“Alright, I get it.”

“–  but for this, I’m thinking maybe we’ll need a slightly different skill set. If we want the General to refuse this request, we have to send someone who will truly annoy him. Someone arrogant and abrasive and with an utter disdain for authority. Someone who will offend the General to his very core.”

“You’re talking about the…”

“No, I’m not.”

“You just described him, down to the stupid goatee.”

“I’m telling you right now, it’s not him. I’m not calling the Consultant.”

He was, though. He was calling the Consultant.

 

* * *

 

And the Consultant – one Tony Stark – answered.

He swaggered into the insipid little bar where Ross had been hiding since his hearing ended, donning shot after shot as if his liver didn’t need to catch a break. One look at him almost made Tony feel pity towards the guy, but then again Tony was not a very pitiful person.

Approaching the bar where Thaddeus had his face pressed against the hardwood counter, he leaned in next to him.

“How the hell did you find me?” Ross asked, plucking the cigar out of his mouth.

“The smell of stale beer and defeat. It’s very distinguishable.”

“You got a sniffing dog in that suit of yours? Or is that just a normal Armani?”

“Funny, funny.”

“What brings you to my corner of the world?” Ross asked, turning to face the playboy.

“Heard you got an unusual problem.”

“You’re one to talk”, he scoffed.

“And you’re one to listen.”

 

* * *

 

“So, how did it go?” Sitwell asked. He returned to the same seat, in the same diner, two days after his first meeting with Coulson. Agent 09 was waiting for him there.

“Mission accomplished”, Coulson said, finishing his lunch. “The Abomination will remain in his cage, for the time being. Apparently the Consultant outdid himself. Ross got so mad, he tried to have him removed from the bar.”

“How’d that go?”

“Stark bought the place. It’s scheduled for demolition next Thursday.”

That was not really a surprise.

 


End file.
